If We Had Been Together
by GirlWithTheBrokenSmileXox
Summary: If we had been together everything would have been different. I wasn't with Arnold that rainy night in August. He was driving, they were arguing. No one knows what it was about. They don't think it's important. They don't know that there's another story, our story. A love story as beautiful as it is tragic. Hidden beneath the facts they think they know. So let me tell you truth.
1. Chapter 1

I wasn't with Arnold on that fateful August night, but my imagination has burned the scene into my mind. It's a sick movie that plays over and over every time I close my eyes. It's like a true memory, like I was there the whole time.

But we all know I wasn't. It would have been so, so different if I was.

It was raining, of course. Pouring, actually. He's driving down the slick roads, frowning, not paying attention to just have fast he is going. His girlfriend, Amber Haus, is sitting in the passenger seat. I can see her bloodshot eyes, her running nose, the tears in her eyes, on her cheeks.

They were arguing. No one ever talks about what they were arguing about. In their opinion, it's not important to the story. But it is important. It's everything. They do not know there is another story here, a bigger one. The story that followed Arnold and Amber down that street and in that car and through everything else. What they do not know, the cause of their argument, is the story of me. The story of us.

I can see everything. The rain-slicked road and the flashing lights of the ambulance and police cars cutting through the silent darkness of the night. This is a warning to anyone who looks on. Catastrophe has struck here, please move along. I can see Amber, sitting in the back of the ambulance, swinging her feet, clutching a blanket tightly around her shoulders as she talks. She tells them the cause of the argument. I can't hear her words but I see her lips move and her face, oh her face. And just like always I know I know _I know_ if Arnold had I had been together everything would have been different.

My mind rewinds and I see them right before the accident. The rain, coming down in buckets, wind howling. The road, wet and slick, as if someone had oiled it down. Arnold's face twisted in frustration. He is distracted. He is not thinking of the rain or the road or the car. He is thinking of this argument. He is thinking about Amber. He is thinking about me. I can see the ghost of a smile on his face before he hits the puddle and the world is turned upside down. The car jerks and Amber screams. Arnold turns the wheel and slams on the breaks. And then the everything stops.

Arnold, of course, is wearing his seatbelt. But he is alone in the car because Amber was not. Amber had flown through the windshield and out into the darkness of the night. Improbably, miraculously suffering only minor cuts and a knock to the head. She'll be fine. But Arnold doesn't know that. All he sees is the hole in the windshield. He can just make out her silhouette in the wet night. Dirty, bloody, and unconscious.

Arnold is untouched. He breathes in and out, shocked into complete silence. His mind is blank. He feels nothing, he thinks nothing. He exists, completely perfect and unscathed. He doesn't hear the rain or the sirens in the distance. He looks out to Amber on the pavement.

My Arnold. My perfect, wonderful Arnold. "Please. Don't go. Stay where you are. Stay in this moment. Stay with me" I whisper.

But of course he never does. Since when does Arnold Shortman ever listen to Helga Pataki?

* * *

Of course...

Disclamier: I own absolutely nothing. Not a thing. I'm a waitress/bartender so going after me for money is pretty pointless.

A/N: So I'm the new girl in town. This is my first story! I have to say it brings back memories of writing fanfics on the Nick message boards with my friends when I was like 10. Ahhh the 90's how I miss them. Anyways, lovely to meet you all! I'm such a fangirl of so many of you. Mouse9, Polkahotness, Pointy Objects, Writer25, Arnold's Love to name a few! I'm missing a ton but that's just off the top of my head. Little background about me. Writing for me (as I'm sure most likely for all of you) is cathartic. Right now I'm at a bit of a crossroad in my life. So I'm using writing and the antics of Arnold and the gang as a mini-vacation for my mind and real life. My only goal is to have a blast and hopefully entertain you! So of course I'd be really appreciative if any and all of you lovelies out there would leave me a review. Let me know what you think! Don't be shy! Advance thanks to everyone who took the time to read this. More to come. Yay! This is exciting!

Kisses! xox


	2. Chapter 2

Part One Freshman Year

Chapter One

* * *

Arnold Shortman has been in my life forever. Every moment, every memory is so intertwined that sometimes it's hard to believe we're two separate people. Two people with two hearts, two souls. He was my savior, my victim, my best friend, my _everything_. Until he wasn't.

No point in sugarcoating it, I was a tough kid with rough home life. I lashed out on everybody and everything. Including Arnold. Especially Arnold. Spitballs, pranks, rude names, threats, and so much more. Old friends gave up on me, new people avoided me. But there was Arnold, always Arnold. Mr. Sunshine. Silver lining, there's good in everyone Arnold. He never gave up on me. And I loved him for it. God, how I loved him.

I like to think that I knew everything about him. The shape of his eyes, the sound of his laugh. His favorite ice cream flavor, his nervous habits. What makes him smile, what makes him cry. But if I'm being honest there were so many things that I did not understand about him over the years. Of course, of course, _of course_ , they all make sense now.

Something shifted in middle school. My mother, at the recommendation of her AA sponsor, joined a book club and hit if off with Susie. Suddenly my family was always at the Sunset Arms and there was Arnold. And then there were dinners together, and star gazing, and endless rounds of Monopoly. And just like that he was my best friend. Arnold mellowed me out, just like I always knew he would. I wasn't angry all the time. My life may not have been perfect, but I was happy. I had Arnold.

Although considered an oddity by our classmates and friends, it became understood that I belonged to Arnold and that we belonged together. We were rarely apart. We did every group project together. We walked home together, did our homework side by side at his kitchen table. We had dinner together almost every night surrounded by the sounds of our families. A week could easily go by with Arnold and I only being separated to sleep in our own beds and even then we slept knowing the other wasn't very far away.

In my memory of this part of my childhood, I always see summer first. I see dancing light and green leaves. Arnold and I running around the park, trying to fly a kite, playing tag, hide and sneak. Star gazing on rooftops sharing our fears, our dreams. Next comes autumn and suddenly everything is golden and there's walking to school together, the slight chill in the air pinking our cheeks. Winter is a blur of white and cold hands shoved in pockets. Snowball fights where I allow Arnold to be my knight in shining armor and I his damsel in distress. Spring is a painting of pale greens and pinks, full of baseball games and laughter.

And then everything ended. And all that time became known in my mind as the Before.

* * *

I walk toward the bus stop with my heart pounding so loudly I'm convinced people miles away can hear it. There are a few kids there, standing loosely around grouped together but refusing to acknowledge each other. I know how I have to act. I know what's expected of me. I take a deep breath. Calm down, Pataki. Game face.

It's my first day of high school.

Some of the people at the bus stop I recognize. Others I don't. It doesn't matter. I only care about seeing one person and he's not here. Sighing, I resist the urge to tug down the hem of my skirt. I feel naked but I suppose I better get used to it.

My honey-colored curls are pulled back into a long, high ponytail tied with a dark purple ribbon. Eyebrows freshly plucked, perfect skin, eyeliner and mascara surrounding my turquoise eyes. Lips coated in a shade of ballet slipper pink. White and purple cheerleading uniform, ridiculous short skirt and all. Flesh colored tights, shocking white sneakers with purple laces. I look gorgeous, unattainable, and most of all perfect. But that's the goal, isn't it?

If my nine year old self could see me now. Cheerleading? Not very Helga Pataki. Not anymore. Helga Pataki is the BEST and if you want to be the best at Woodrow Wilson High School then you're a cheerleader. Our high school has won the NHSCC (National High School Cheerleading Competition) for the past decade. We're undefeated. Every senior captain has gone on to earn a full-ride cheer scholarship to an Ivy-League school. They're smart, beautiful, and determined. Teachers love them, students worship them. I've been dancing for 10 years. This was an easy decision for me. I'm completely reinvented. I'm Helga G. Pataki 2.0 and better than ever.

This is a what he wanted. This is my own personal apology to my father.

All Big Bob Pataki wanted was for his girls to be perfect. The best in town. Admired and loved by all. As much as there was a selfish motivation behind it, I like to believe it's mostly because he loved us and wanted life to be as easy as possible. I never played by his rules when he was around. The least I can do is honor his wishes now that he's dead.

And then suddenly I hear it and time stands still. Short skirts and secret vows to my dead dad are put on hold. My hands get clamy and my heart jumps to my throat. I haven't heard that voice in 2 months and 16 days.

"Hey," he says in a voice that I swear is dipped in chocolate. I have no idea if he's talking to me. I resist the urge to look at him, but I can imagine him. Tall, blond, and irresistible. I hear a girl's voice respond to him, all high pitched like a cartoon animal. I know I should have greeted him, hugged him, begged him to fix all of this. But I can't. We have nothing to talk about anymore. Every moment we've spent in silence over the last 2 months is like another brick in the wall that is now firmly between us.

We aren't friends anymore. We aren't anything anymore.

It wasn't a choice. Not really.

* * *

Disclaimer: Still don't own anything.

A/N: I couldn't sleep so I keep writing. So they way this is going to work is there are five parts to the meat of this story. Freshmen Year, Sophomore Year, Junior Year, Senior Year, and That Summer. Each part will have a couple chapters. Not quite sure yet. It should be pretty easy to follow, but if you're confused please let me know! I hope you're enjoying it so far. I'll probably take a couple days off but should have something new up by the weekend. Thanks in advance to anyone reading this!

Kisses! xox


	3. Chapter 3

Part One Freshman Year

Chapter Two

* * *

I've never been admired or desired. I've never been envied. I've never had people fight for the honor of being considered worth my time. As I'm walking down the hallway, Lila and Rhonda flanked at my side, I'm struck by an overwhelming feeling.

I am all those things. I'm Wilson High Royalty.

The boys stare, the girls whisper. I'm right where I want to be. I'm the best and they already know. Get ready for for the next four years, my loyal subjects. You have a new queen.

Even with all this confidence I can't resist looking for him. I feel my smile slip for a moment as I scan the crowd. He's not here and I can't help but feel disappointed.

He's your past. You don't care anymore.

Funny. Even in my head it sounds like a lie.

* * *

"Geez, Pataki you show off. All honors level classes and an AP Literature course?" Rhonda said with disgust as she glanced at my schedule. "How in the world do you except to to handle all this plus cheering plus our mandatory extra curricular? And don't forgot Coach Crazy requires us to maintain a 3.5 GPA! You're out of your mind."

"Jealous isn't a good color on you, Rhonda my dear. It clashes horribly with your skin tone." I responded sweetly.

Lila is sent into a fit of giggles and the death glare on Rhonda's face tells me I'm in for it. Go ahead, Princess. Bring it.

I see her look across the cafeteria and a wicked smile fills her face. "Tell me again what happened between you and Arnold, Helga? He may be way too tortured artist for my taste, but oh my God is that boy easy on the eyes. Bet he's a delicious kisser. Seems like a waste doesn't it?"

What an evil cow. I'll kill her before senior year I know it. With as much venom as I can inject into my voice I respond, "Rhonda, this is the last time I'm going to tell you this. Arnold is an off limits subject. His name never leaves your lips again, got it? We grew apart. End of story."

She sighs, rolling her eyes and moves the subject onto our crazy cheerleading coach. That's Rhonda's version of apologizing for obviously upsetting me. I try to let it go. Pretend hearing Rhonda ramble on about him so causally didn't bother me. I continue through the rest of lunch with a fake smile on my face. No one even notices the difference.

We're on our way out of the cafeteria when it happens. He's sitting there, looking just the same. Blonde hair, constantly messy, just long enough to fall into his eyes. Jeans and a light blue shirt just tight enough that I can tell he's been working out. Dazzling smile, deep dimples. He looks so happy, so real, so perfect.

My Arnold. Or at least he used to be.

He's sitting next that girl from the bus stop. She's all dark hair, punk clothes, and a voice high enough to drive anyone nuts. Her name is Amber and she's infuriating. He's nodding at something she's saying. She laughs. He smiles. God, I hate her.

His eyes flicker to me and for the first time in what feels like forever we make eye contact. My stomach lurks and my mind reels. If we were together right now, I would run up to him. I would slide into his lap and wrap my arms around his neck. He would smile at me, all dimples. He would whisper, lips right by my ear, how much he missed me. We'd sit there together, hoping for lunch to last just a little bit longer so we don't have to get up. Separation, even for a short time, would be unbearable.

Lila grabs my arm and tugs, breaking my fantasy. I should have went up to him. I could have apologized for all that I said. All that I did. Maybe that would have been the start of everything that was supposed to be.

Shoulda, coulda, woulda. It's so easy in the past tense.

* * *

A week later everything changes.

I'm coming out of cheer practice when I hear someone shout my name. I'm cranky and exhausted, so I turn toward the voice ready to lay on my special brand of Pataki charm.

His name is Derek Whitman and he shocks me into silence. Butterflies beat against my stomach as I take in his ink black hair, his stormy grey eyes surrounded by impossibly long lashes. His smile is all smirk and arrogance. He rambles on about how he heard Crazy Coach Kelly sing my praises and he just had to meet me. He's flooding me with compliments in the most adorable manner. But I can't focus. All I can think is yes, this boy. This boy can help me move on.

So the next morning when we walk into school together I allow him to slip his hand into mine. On the outside I'm all poise and sheer bliss. On the inside I'm a mixed bag of emotions, but I grab onto the attraction and genuine affection I feel for Derek and choose to ignore the rest.

Just like that I'm one half of Wilson High's new power couple.

* * *

"Alright ladies! Good work today. Some of your missed your marks so make sure you're practicing at home. Monday morning we're doing a five mile run, so make sure you bring good sneakers. Go Sharks!" cheered Coach Kelly.

"Well ladies it's been a blast kicking your butts all afternoon, but some of us have a hot date to get to" I smirked to Rhonda and Lila.

Lila got a dreamy look in her eyes as she said "He is so fricking cute I can't stand it. You are just so, so lucky Helga."

"Yeah, Pataki. A super hottie and a star running back. So what'd you do drug him?" responded Rhonda.

"Yeah, it's called charm and beauty. Go find some Miss. Priss. Toodles, my dears!" And with that statement I was out the door.

My phone suddenly vibrated with a message from Derek. _Sorry, babe. Practice is running late. Meet u by the main entrance in 20? Miss u xxx._

I smiled. We've been dating for a month and he's wonderful. He calls me every night to wish me sweet dreams. He buys me my favorite caramel coffee every morning on the way to school. He's funny, sweet, gorgeous, and worshipped by everyone.

It's almost perfect.

I push away the nagging feeling of discontent and focus on him as I wander the halls. Derek, Derek, _Derek_.

I stop in front one of the art rooms, the smell of paint and turpentine leading me in. I've always loved that smell. I scan the room and I'm suddenly drawn to a painting on an easel in the back.

It's a painting of a girl sitting on the edge of a rooftop, legs swinging. Her long blonde hair is loose and falls to the small of her back. She's wearing a white dress, it's hem swept up in the breeze. She's looking up the night sky with tears in her crystal blue eyes but a smile on her face. The stars are bright and awe-inspiring. I know exactly what this girl is thinking. She feels so small in comparison to the vast night sky and wants nothing more than to burst from her skin and fly away. Leaving her problems on the Earth below. This painting fills me with an emotion I can't describe.

On instinct I reach out to touch her face when I hear him. Honestly I'm surprised I didn't feel his presence.

"Do you like it?" Arnold says with a slight smile.

These are the first words he's spoken to me since that night on his roof. Ignoring him would be silly, especially when I want so badly to hear his voice again.

"Honestly? I can't stop looking at it" I reply. It's then that I notice a tiny football in the corner. Of course it's his. I turn toward him and allow myself to look at him."You're incredibly talented. But that nothing you haven't heard before."

He shrugs, cheeks on fire. He's still so bad at accepting praise. But he's nervous too. I can tell by his uneasy smile. Any minute he's going to grab something to give his hands something to do.

"Yeah well. Thanks." he stammers, grabbing a paintbrush off the counter and twirling it through his fingers. My heart skips. I hate how well I know him. "So, haven't seen you around the boarding house. Sunday dinner, and all that."

I've been avoiding him. My mom is starting to get annoyed with my excuses every Sunday. She doesn't get it. "Cheering does keep me busy. Plus I've started volunteering over at St. Luke's." I let my voice trail off and the silence between us fills the room.

After almost a minute he says "I've seen you with what's his name? Derek? I've heard you're dating him. I hope he's good to you."

Not as good as you would be. "Yeah he's sweet. Big goofball. How's ummm Amber?"

I've seen them walking in the hall together. Her arms wrapped around his waist, looking up at him with adoration. I pretend it doesn't make me want to punch a hole in the wall.

"She's nice. A really good photographer. Her stuff can be in galleries one day. I'm kind of jealous." he laughs.

I snort and roll my eyes as my phone vibrates again. _Babe, where are u? U forget about me?_ Focus, Pataki. Derek, your boyfriend, is waiting for you.

I look up into Arnold's emerald eyes. I hold contact for a second too long before I look away. It can't be like this. We had our chance. I ruined it.

"Ummm, I got to go. The old ball and chain calls. Catch you later, football head."

I'm almost home free when he calls my name. I hesitate by the doorway but don't turn around.

"Helga? I hope I see you around."

I pause for another second and keep walking, tears threatening to fill my eyes. I can't be around him. I blew us up on the summer night and now it's never going to be the same. I understand all of this in my head, but my heart just can't catch up. I just have to hold on tight and hope the pain goes away soon.

God, I'm so stupid.

* * *

Derek is snuggled up against me. He's made it very clear he want to go farther and I'm getting sick of telling him I'm not ready. A few days ago on the phone he said he loved me and I said I wasn't there yet. But now laying next to him I'm wondering if this is why he said it.

"No problem," he says, and takes my hand in his. We're laying on my bed, killing time. Tonight is the homecoming game and tomorrow is the dance. I'm already in my uniform but I'm procrastinating doing my hair and makeup. My dress for tomorrow night is hanging from my closet doorknob. It's a glittery burgundy, princess cut A-line mini tulle dress with a sheer high neck. It's beautiful. I'm hoping at the dance as the DJ plays a romantic song, Derek will grab me and hold me close. As we sway to the music, he'll whisper how stunning I look and how lucky he is. And I'm praying in that moment, I'll love him.

With that wish on my mind, I lean into him and kiss him. The room is silent except for our breathing. His lips find my neck and he whispers "I love you, Helga" against my skin. Suddenly I'm thinking of the girl in the painting. Of the art room.

Derek kisses me again and I imagine going with Arnold to an art museum, teasing him that none of these paintings are as good as his. I imagine an older couple cooing at our young love. I imagine him blushing, leaning down to kiss me on the cheek. Derek moves on top of me, his body heavy and warm. I deepen our kiss. If Arnold and I had been together he would have told me he loved me by now, but he wouldn't have asked about sex. The thought wouldn't have crossed his mind. Not yet. I can see all of this as if it has already happened, as if it was what happened. I know that it is accurate down to the smallest detail, because even with everything that did happen, I still know Arnold, and I know what would have happened.

With my heart full of Arnold, I break the kiss and look up.

"I love you." I say to Derek.

* * *

A/N: I just quickly want to say THANK YOU to the people that reviewed my story (September-Stray and a guest!) as well as to anyone who followed it. This chapter is for you guys! Just wanted to make a couple things clear. A quickie timeline of Arnold and Helga's relationship. They started out just like on the show. Her bullying him but loving him while him just being the Arnold we know and love. In middle school, Miriam and Susie (we'll get into the how's and stuff later) become best friends and the Pataki family spends a lot of time at the boarding house. Helga and Arnold become best friends, really closer then even that. But they were not dating. Then they have a fight in the summer before freshman year and that's where we are now. Hope that clears some stuff up without giving too much away. I'm trying really hard to dive deep into their relationship beacuse it's so incredibly complex. I honestly believe nothing with Helga and Arnold is ever easy. So this story is bascially the long and difficult path that take to eventually come together. With a bunch of twists and turns! Anyways, done rambling. Might have another chapter up tomorrow but I'm pretty tired. Please review and let me know what you think! Thanks, my lovelies.

Oh and of course! Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold! or anything really.

Kisses! xox


	4. Chapter 4

Part One Freshman Year

Chapter Three

* * *

I'm surrounded by laughter. The room feels just a tad too hot and the air is thick with the smell of perfume and beer. We're on winter break and the beautiful people of Wilson High need no excuse to party. I arrived here tonight determined. This is my night. I'm Helga G. Pataki, let's get this party started.

Now I feel like a ghost. Fake smile plastered on my face, forever the silent observer. Rhonda is in the corner, holding court, circled by Harold and his band of goons. Lila is sitting on the couch performing her southern belle act. Derek as usual is the center of attention. He's every girl's dream. He is animated and funny and constantly has that smirk of a smile on his face. He's a lovable prankster with a story for every situation. _Everyone_ loves him.

Of course I love him. Of course.

But it's the kind of love that leaves me disappointed. I always thought that when you were in love, it would always be right there, staring you in the face, reminding you every moment that you love this person. That you can't live without this person. It isn't always like that. Sometimes I have to tell myself I love Derek because I don't feel it. In these moments my mind betrays me and I think of Arnold. I can't help but think that if Arnold and I were together I would know, just know that I loved him. I would know I loved him just like I know my heart beats. Because it's always there.

But that's a fairy tale and this is real life.

And real life can be disappointing.

* * *

"Baby sister! Come on, you're going to make us late!" screamed Olga from downstairs.

I'm staring at my reflection in the mirror trying to fool myself into thinking I can do this. This is our first Christmas without Bob and on the outside the Pataki's are fine, _just fine_ thank you. My mom, Miriam Pataki, sober and running Pataki Family Electronics (formally Big Bob's Beepers) with a grace and sternness that would make her late husband beam with pride. My older sister, Olga Pataki, forever the star as a successful classic pianist and wife to one of the "Men to Watch Under 40". And of course yours truly, Helga Pataki, on track to be the cheerleading squad's youngest captain, holder of the highest GPA in the class, and generally worshipped by all.

But I can see my mom's gaze flicker to the empty liquor cabinet with a hunger that has nothing to do with food. I can see the bags under my sister's eyes she tried so hard to cover with concealer. I don't know what they see in me. I've gotten really good at looking perfect.

And now we're on our way to the boarding house where hopefully my mother and sister will find some happiness. And me, well, I'll just try to avoid Arnold and pretend some more.

* * *

"Oh my God, Helga! You look so pretty! Like something straight out of a magazine! Come here sweetie!" Susie exclaims, pulling me into one of her bone-crushing hugs. I breath in the smell of her and feel my shoulders relax.

Susie is one of the strongest women I know. She reminds me of Arnold in the way I find comforting. She's the eternal optimist. She handled her divorce with a win some, loose some attitude that infuriated her ex-husband. She runs the boarding house and takes care of Arnold's grandparents without compliant. She treats Arnold with all the gentleness of a mother and I love her for it.

I've missed her.

"Helga, sweetie, why don't you go help Arnold set the table? Miriam, Olga I can use your help in the kitchen. I'm trying to replicate your stuffing recipe, but I just can't seem to get it right!" sighed Susie.

Needing no direction, I head for the dining room, trying to remember to breathe. It's really no big deal. So what, we're not friends. I have a full life, an amazing life. Today is just like any other day.

Arnold is setting the dining room table with what I recognize as his grandparent's wedding china. He's wearing a red sweater that would look dorky on any other guy but makes him look like a Calvin Klein model. He's humming a tune I can't quite put my finger on. I cough and he looks up.

Oh God, not the eyes. My stomach is in knots and I silently beg him to stop staring. There's a look in his eyes I can't identify. It's giving me goosebumps and I want him to look away.

"You want to take a picture, Arnold? Because I charge $50 a shot." I snap at him. What is wrong with me?

His eyes widen and he immediately looks down at his hands. He's blushing furiously. "Sorry, Helga. Ummm, I just wanted to say...you look nice." he mumbles.

I do look pretty. My hair is down, in tight ringlet curls. It's pushed off my face with a dark red velvet ribbon. I'm wearing a long sleeved dark red, lace dress that comes about mid-thigh. Fishnet stockings and glittery black heels complete the look. I'm very 1950's Hollywood starlet. And even though I know I look amazing, his comment still sucks the very breath out of my lungs. I can't respond. All I can do is stare at him, my jaw hanging open.

So I say nothing. Silence still being my preferred method of communication when it comes to Arnold. As I lay down napkins at each place setting he's created he starts humming that tune again and I still can't breathe. My wind is a whirlwind. Why is he doing this? This killing me with kindness act is wearing thin. He should hate me, ignore me. I deserve it.

It's funny when I look back, there are so many versions of just one memory, and yet none of them are right or wrong. Instead they are pieces that only when fitted together, edge to edge, could begin to tell the whole story.

* * *

At dinner, Susie lets me have a glass of wine. It makes me feel giddy and light-headed. The boarders all make cracks calling me being a a snobby cheerleader and I entertain everyone by making up goofy cheeers about them. They boost about Arnold's straight A's and prize winning paintings. Including one about the girl gazing at the stars. He blushes, but doesn't say much. He looks happy though. Happy that everyone else is happy. Typical Arnold.

Miriam and Susie talk about every Christmas they can ever remember and compare them to this Christmas. They proclaim it to be the best Christmas ever and my mom is truly smiling for the first time in months.

I wish I could believe them that this is the best Christmas ever, but I can't. Because they're wrong. It was last Christmas. The Christmas before everything changed.

It snowed the night before Christmas Eve that year. I had a new baby blue winter coat and mittens that match my sparkly blue scarf. Arnold and I spent all day outside building a whole snow family and making angels in the middle of the street. Susie made us hot chocolate and sugar cookies and Arnold let me win at Monopoly. After dinner when the adults were having coffee and watching _It's a Wonderful Life_ , we went to the rooftop. It was still lightly snowing and I was in a state of complete bliss. I twirled around the rooftop singing.

 _"Now you're my whole life. Now you're my whole world. I just can't believe the way I feel about you. We'll look back someday at this moment that we're in and I'll look at you and say and I thought I loved you then"_

"Helga." he whispered. I stopped twirling and sat beside him, smiling wide.

"You have such a beautiful voice. Very heavenly." he said, half-lidded gaze on my face. I snuggled in closer and shivered. He took his red scarf off and wrapped it around my neck. "My very own Christmas angel," he said as we looked at the stars.

At home I still have that scarf. And that tune Arnold was humming, was that song.

* * *

A/N: I really, really want to say thank you to all of you that took the time to read and review my story. The stuff you guys said really gave me an amazing, wonderful feeling. So this chapter goes out to all of you especially WatchTheQueenConquer, September-Stray, and ! I know I'm probably killing you guys with the "what happened to Arnold and Helga" and I'm sorry. Bits and pieces wil start to emerge in the coming chapters. Helga's still in the 'stuff down and deny' phase and this is after all mostly her show :-)

Oh and before I forget

Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold! or "Then" by Brad Paisley. Just secret borrowing them I swear.

Hope you guys enjoyed this. I have a pretty light weekend so I might have something up tomorrow.

Kisses! xox,

Girl With The Broken Smile or Vanessa, as my parents like to call me


	5. Chapter 5

Part One Freshman Year

Chapter Four

* * *

A/N and dedication at the end of the chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

As the snow begins to melt and flowers start to bloom, life on the outside is wondrously, stunningly perfect. We just got back from Florida where we clinched the NHSCC easily with a jazz dance routine I created. As I stood on that stage, gazing out at the standing ovation from the audience, the pleased look on the judges' faces, I struggled to find happiness, or even triumph. All I felt was emptiness and I knew why. Something was missing, would always be missing. I fought back tears, keeping my perfect smile etched on my face, my mind overcome with one thought. Bob would have loved this.

At the end of the trip Coach Kelly announced I would be the captain next year to both the envy and admiration of the squad. As word traveled through the rest of the school, everyone sought me out to give me their congratulations, eager to kiss the ring of Wilson High's new queen. Everywhere I go I'm the center of attention. I'm smart, spunky, pretty, and have the cutest boyfriend. And now I've been officially crowned as the best.

Everything I touch turns to gold. But it feels more like cheap costume jewelry.

I wonder if anyone noticed that when I smiled and thanked them, there was something missing. That my smile showed off too much teeth, or that my eyes looked glazed over and void of emotion. I doubt it, I'm too good at pretending. You'd have to look really close, know me better than I know myself. Only one person can do that.

And he never offered his congratulations.

* * *

We just started what Lila calls "The Charity Victory Lap." Basically a bunch of car washes, bake sales, and cheer shows at places like retirement homes to help raise money for both the squad and whatever charity of the week Lila's hooked on. It seems pretty boring, but it's actually a lot of fun. Most of the time I'm just hanging out with Lila and Rhonda and I feel like I'm nine again. It's comforting in a way that's difficult to describe.

"And I was just sitting there, minding my own business, eating my freaking veggie wrap, and there he is, jumping out at me." Rhonda sneers. "I almost dumped my lemonade all over my new cashmere sweater. He is the worst, Helga, the worst. You have to keep him on a leash or something."

Derek and Rhonda are locked in a game of wits. Or half-wits as I keep referring to it. It's no secret, out of our group of friends, that they have the hardest time getting along. Derek claims she's a spoiled brat and Rhonda whines about his immaturity. So Derek, class clown and self-appointed King of the Pranks, thought it would be funny one afternoon to hide behind a bush, jump out, screaming nonsense and nearly give Rhonda a heart attack. Obviously Rhonda with more pride than brains, retaliated. Now we're stuck in this never ending game of gotcha and I find it incredibly annoying.

"Rhonda, I don't know how many times I've got to tell you this. I swear I have no idea how your grades are anything above a D. You must bribe your teachers. Stop encouraging Derek. If you stop playing, he'll get bored and move on. Now leave me alone and start icing some cupcakes," I reply back to her, rolling my eyes. Rhonda glares at me, dark eyes closer to black than brown. Too arrogant to admit I know what I'm talking about.

"She's right you know. We only have like two hours before the bake sale. And these cupcakes aren't done. And we still have to get dressed," sighs Lila.

"You heard the lady, time to kick it into high gear so stop your whining. Rhonda, finish icing the cupcakes. Quickly, Princess, or should I call one of your butlers to do it? Lila, you and I will start packing them up and taking them to the car. Then we'll get changed. We'll be there before you know it," I command.

I look at my two best friends and with I smirk I say, "And ladies, don't forget to smile!" They laugh, but do exactly what I asked of them.

Captain Pataki, queen of confidence, has arrived.

I like to believe that everyone has multiple versions of themselves. That people are complex and even though they only show a certain part of themselves to the world, it doesn't mean it's false, just what they're most comfortable putting on display.

However, right now, it just feels like I'm wearing a mask.

* * *

Tonight I have a date with Derek. Dinner and movie. A perfect, cliched night of romance.

When I imagine getting ready for a date with my boyfriend, the man that I love, I picture myself floating around my room on a cloud of pure bliss. Nervous to look absolutely perfect, like an angel. Butterflies in my stomach, heart in my throat counting down the minutes until he arrives.

That's how it's supposed to be. How it should be. But it's not like that. My mind is stuck on one thing, like a computer screen that's frozen. The memory of this morning.

This morning, at the bus stop, Amber and Arnold are fighting. They're whispering back and forth, and although I can't make out what they're saying, I can tell just by the tone of his voice that he's angry. I go to elaborate lengths to avoid seeing Arnold and Amber together. Just seeing her look at him with love in her eyes makes my blood boil with rage. And of course there's that other green-eyed emotion I refuse to acknowledge. So I don't exactly get the opportunity eavesdrop on a lot of their conversations. Nor do I have any desire to hear their sweet nothings. But now, suddenly all I want in the world, in that moment, is to be able to hear what they are saying. I look over my shoulder and strain to listen. Arnold is standing next to her, glaring at the ground. Amber is facing him and clinging to his side as she looks up at his face. From a distance, it would have hard to tell that they're fighting. "Please," I see more than I hear her say. He lifts his head, startling green eyes making contact with mine for brief second before closing them and dropping his head again. He shakes his head at Amber and doesn't say a word.

Two questions are stuck in my head as I'm getting ready to meet Derek, when we're at the restaurant, when he wraps his arm around me during the movie, when he tells me he loves me on our walk back to my house, when he kisses me, sweet yet passionate, the wood of my front door hard against my back and his hands in my hair.

What were they fighting about? And more importantly, why do I care so much?

* * *

It is the moment I reach my door that I realize I left my keys in my locker. It's Thursday, the day my mother goes to see her therapist right after work. She won't be home until at least six. It's two-thirty in the afternoon in late April and it's still cold, with dark clouds overhead threatening rain. Derek is grounded for some idiot prank he pulled on his neighbor, Rhonda is shopping with her mother, and Lila is tutoring. I stand facing my door for a moment. I have two options. One is to stay on the porch, hope that the rain doesn't blow on me, and later try to explain to my mother why I didn't take the second option.

"I'm locked out," I say as he opens the door. Even so, a flicker of confusion passes over his face. He looks like he wants to say something, but shakes his head, deciding against it. He steps aside and lets me come in. I'm wearing jeans, so tight they look almost painted on, with a canary yellow baby-doll shirt and long silver necklace with a heart at the end. A valentine's gift from Derek. My hair is in a fishtail braid tied at the end with a bit of yellow lace. My shoes are sparkly, silver ballet flats that look adorable, but pinch my toes. He's wearing khakis and a dark blue sweater with rolled up sleeves. Flecks of orange paint cover his hands and lower arms. He's kicked off his shoes already. His socks are pink. I resist the urge to say something. Back in the day I would have teased him. What kind of boy wears pink socks?

The comfortable, familiar sight of him like this takes me breath away.

"Is Susie around?" I ask, fighting back the blush on my face. Susie has a spare key.

"She's out right now. Grocery shopping, random errands. Her note said she'll be back around four," he says. "Where's your mom?"

"It's Thursday," I say, knowing that reminder will be enough for him. My mother has been going to see a therapist every Thursday since we were eleven. She started going on Tuesdays as well since my father died. But of course, he wouldn't know that.

I follow him to the living room, trying to shake my feeling of discomfort. The boarding house is always just a little bit messy, the lived-in kind of messy where books get piled into corners, and throw pillows and shoes seem to be everywhere. It's almost never completely quiet, something always going on. It has a homey feel I've always found soothing.

But not today. Today I just want Susie to come home so I can get out of here. So I can run away from all these memories. So I can hide from the way Arnold smiles, all dimples and half-lidded eyes, the way he always smells like paint and turpentine, how he laughs deep and drawn-out. I want to lock all these things away and pretend I never knew them in the first place.

"What do you watch to watch?" Arnold says, looking up at me from where he's sitting on the couch. I swallow and calm my panicking nerves.

"That's okay. I'm just going to start some homework. Don't worry about me, football head. I can keep myself entertained," I reply. He looks at me for a moment and then shrugs as I sit down in bright blue armchair across the room. When I hear Arnold start flipping through the channels, I take my notebook out of my bag and start working.

Even though I know for my own sanity I should just ignore him, I can't help but to glance up at him when I know he isn't looking. Sometimes I think he truly is too perfect. He looks like he belongs in the royal family. His hair stays blond all winter and looks like gold in the summer. He has pale skin and pink cheeks and his eyes are the exact color of a grassy field the day after a summer rain shower. Arnold gets embarrassed very easily and never tells anyone how he is feeling; you just how to know him well enough to understand. His expression right now is mysteriously blank and even I am having a hard time interrupting it.

If we were together I would be sitting next to him on the couch. We would be watching a movie, wrapped in a blanket together. His arms would be around me, whispering spoilers in my ear. I would get mad at him grabbing a handful of popcorn, throwing it in his face. He'd laugh and my heart would skip a beat. He'd throw some back at me and soon we'd be engaged in a war. At the end, he would pin me down, popcorn surrounding us and the movie playing in the background. He would be out of breath, hair messy, with his face hovering inches above mine. He would touch my cheek and run his fingers down to my lips, so lightly as if I were made of glass. My whole body would be tingly and warm. He'd close the space between us and press his lips to mine and I'd see fireworks.

It's this daydream, so much like all the others I can't help having, that gives me confidence. Maybe it's not too late for us. Maybe if we just talk about what happened last June. I convinced myself that he hates me, that sorry would never be enough, that friendship between us is an impossibility let alone love.

But what do I really have to lose?

"Hey Arnold, can-" I start to say, hope filling my heart.

The door opens with a bang and like a whirlwind there's Susie. "Helga, dear, how are you? Everything ok?" she asks. She must be confused. I'm never here anymore.

"Helga's locked out, Suz. She needs her key." Arnold replies for me, eyes fixed on my face.

"Oh poor dear! I'll be right back, it's just upstairs" says Susie, leaving the room.

The silence in the room between us is so loud, it's hurting my ears. It's like he knows what I was about to say, like he's daring me to finish.

I'm trying to speak, find the right words, any words, when Susie comes back with my key. She hands it to me and sweeps me up into I hug and I look at Arnold over her shoulder. Suddenly my mind jerks me back to that summer night, all those months ago. I'm screaming, words I'd never imagine saying leaving my lips. It's raining, and I can barely see. But I can see his face, see his pain. But I don't care. All I feel is anger. No, no, no, no, NO. I shut my mind off. What in the world was I thinking? There's no coming back from that.

I have to leave. Just get out of here, Helga. Don't think, no emotions. Susie asks me to stay for dinner and I decline, face on fire, and start to pack my things back up. Susie kisses me on cheek as goodbye and dashes off the kitchen to put the groceries away. I swing my bag over my shoulder and walk toward the door, forcing myself to breath in and out. Almost there.

Arnold grabs my arm and I spin around, meeting his eyes. Etched in his face, swimming in his eyes are emotions I'm not willing to identify. I can't face this. Not now, maybe not ever. Unable to speak I just shake my head and walk out door, away from him, away from everything.

I run away and he doesn't call after me.

Cowards, both of us.

* * *

Dedication: This chapter goes out to September-Stray. She's reviewed every chapter and provided me with amazing support. Thank you, my dear. Hope you liked this one.

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry it's been a while but work has been crazy lately and I really didn't want to rush this. I'm already working on the next chapter so I hope to have it up maybe tonight or tomorrow. Big thank you to everyone who has read this and reviewed it. As well as super hugs to the people who have added me as a favorite author and favorite story! Love it! Hope you guys enjoy this and let me know what you think!

Kisses xox


	6. Chapter 6

Part One Freshman Year

Chapter Five

* * *

When the bell rings that final day of school it feels as if it is truly the last, as if I'm being set free not for three months but thirty years. I breathe in the warm, summer air and for the first time in a while, I feel light and happy. I want to freeze this one moment and stay in it a little while longer.

But I can't because suddenly I'm surrounded by hugging and squealing. Derek grabs me, dips me low to the ground and kisses me loudly. Forever the entertainer, always putting on a show. He slips a note into the back pocket of my jean mini-skirt and whispers to read it later when I'm alone. I caress his cheek and smile, warmth filling my heart. It's in these moments that I can forgive his flaws and remember that I do love him.

Just as Derek lifts me onto his shoulders, shouting summer's arrival to anyone that will listen, I see Arnold in the crowd. He's standing next to his grandpa's Packard waving to someone I can't see. He's smiling, the sun illuminating his face. He laughs and even though I can't hear it, I know what it sounds like. I watch him get in the car and drive away. My heart sinks and my entire body feels heavy, like it's full of sand.

He's like an apparition, appearing long enough for me to notice him, and keep me watching when he's gone.

And just like any apparition, he's still haunting.

* * *

Rhonda and I are sitting on Lila's bedroom floor with her, reading magazines. I'm trying to put myself into a good mood. June is a hard month for me. Every evening I have nightmares and every morning I wake up in a cold sweat, bone-tired as if I hadn't slept at all. Everytime I close my eyes, a new horror fills my subconscious. Sometimes I see Arnold's face, drenched in rain, looking like he's been stabbed in the gut, pain visible in every aspect of his features. Sometimes I see my father's lifeless body, my mother's grief-stricken eyes, hear my sister's high-pitched screams.

It's like a sick game, distrubing and never-ending. Torture worse than any physical pain. So I'm trying to fill my daylight hours with something that resembles happiness, praying eventually the nightmares will stop.

We're giving each other quizzes out of the magazines. Like "Do YOU know how to flirt?" and "What color is _your_ personality?" According to these magazines, we're all incredibly skilled and amazingly well balanced. They're multiple choice, and it's easy to predict what the right answer will be. One choice will have too much of one trait, the other not enough, and one will be just right. Like a Goldilocks, with an adolescent twist. All afternoon, we've been choosing the same answers and been told that we're doing great, that we should carry on as we are and everything will be okay.

It's silly and stupid, but right now it's exactly what I need. Just to be told in black and white that everything will be okay.

I'm laying on the floor, breathing in and out, listening to the familiar voices of my two best friends complain about boys. A sense of calmness washes over me, and just as I think I'm about to drift into a dream-free sleep, Rhonda squeals my name.

For a cheerleader, she certainly has horrible timing. With a sigh, I glance at Rhonda and see a magazine in her lap, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Helga! Oh my god. I found the perfect quiz for you," she says with a toothy smile I've learned to associate with her more deviant side.

I raise my eyebrows, encouraging her to continue against my better judgement.

"Does he like you as _more_ than a friend?" she reads.

"Who?" I ask. Rhonda giggles. I swear if she says his name I may just hit her.

"Arnold Shortman! Duh!" she says, sticking her tongue out at me. "Remember in eighth grade how he would just stare at you during lunch when you had yearbook meetings across the cafeteria. So lost without his lady love by his side."

"Cut the dramatics, Princess. It absolutely did not happen like that," I snort, rolling my eyes to the ceiling. I remember waving to him and him waving back with a smile on his face. I don't remember him staring. I think I would have noticed that.

"Oh, but she's so, so right Helga. It was the cutest thing. But I have to say Arnold wasn't as hot as he is now," laughs Lila, auburn curls framing her face.

I'm struck with an old fourth-grade feeling of jealousy and hate. My eyes narrow as I glare at Lila. "You think he's hot?" I ask, trying to avoid adding any anger into my voice.

Lila smiles shyly at me, almost like she knows what I'm feeling. "I mean, I would never ever want to like date him, but yeah, he's hot."

"That boy is quite gorgeous," admits Rhonda.

"This conversation has passed it's expiration date. And, Rhonda, you're a completely deranged and I'm having you committed. In case you didn't pick up on my subtle hints there, I'm not taking that quiz. We're not friends anymore. It'd be pointless," I say.

Rhonda bounces to her feet, twirling around, obviously enjoying herself. "Sure you can," she says. "Just answer what would have been true back then."

"I'm not-"

"Number one," says Rhonda. "You call your best guy friend after a fight with your mom. The next day at school he, A, asks if you're okay. B, doesn't mention it because it didn't seem like a big deal to him. Or C, gives you a hug and remembers all the details of your conversation the night before."

The answer pops out of my mouth before I can even think. "Well, C," I say. Suddenly the Goldilocks answers aren't so clear anymore; I don't know what the right answer is, just what the truth is.

A. He blushed when people called me his girlfriend.

C. He never talked about other girls in front of me.

B. He seemed comfortable touching me and showing me affection.

A. He said I was his best friend.

My hands are shaking and I feel clamy. I can't believe I played along with this. The outcome frightens me in a way that fills my body with ice. It's not the answer I find particularly terrifying, but what the answer means.

Rhonda adds up the score and looks at me, smile filled with triumph. "Girl, are you blind?" she reads. "This guy is jonesing for you bad-"

"Okay. Enough. This is ridiculous. It doesn't even matter now. He's with Amber Haus-" I snap, grabbing the magazine from Rhonda's hands.

"And you're with Derek," whispers Lila

"Exactly. And I'm with Derek. So this subject is dead. No more bringing it up," I say, laying back down on the cold floor.

Rhonda shrugs and resumes her earlier conversation with Lila. I close my eyes and listen, but this time the sound of their voices does nothing to comfort me. My mind is too crowded and my whole body feels wrung out and empty.

I don't know what hurts more. The thought that Arnold might have loved me. Or the thought that I ruined it.

* * *

Everybody lies. Some people lie because they have to. Some people lie because they want to. There are so many different kinds of lies. Each more colorful and complex than the next. The only commonality between them? That each lie told felt powerfully, absolutely vital to the person who told it.

Derek and I are holding each other and listening to the rain. My wet hair is splattered across his bare chest and his hand is rubbing circles on my back. The air is cool on my bare skin.

I feel safe and comfortable. Two things I always am with Derek.

I sigh and nuzzle his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of him. With every breath I take I feel my muscles relax. "You sleeping?" he mumbles, kissing my forehead.

"Not yet," I whisper. I'm trying to make my breath rise and fall with his. I want us to feel like one person, one heartbeat. Truly connected.

"I love you," Derek says. Lately Derek has been talking about our future together, how perfect it will be. He paints a picture of us in house together with a family, blissfully in love until death do us part. I tell myself that Derek is perfect and his life will be perfect, so if I'm a part of that life, I'll be perfect too. So he has to be right. We'll be happy.

I lean up on my elbows and kiss him deeply. He moans and I feel his hand trace up my side and tuck under my bra. His hands on my skin give me goosebumps, but something feels wrong. My heartbeat doesn't pick up, my temperature doesn't rise, and these aren't the right kind of goosebumps. I want to rewind. Go back to a few minutes ago where I felt like he was my one and only. I break our kiss and lay my head back down on his chest. After a minute I feel my body relax again, basking in the comfortable silence between us. My eyes start to drift closed.

"I want you," Derek says. I feel my eyelashes graze his skin as I open my eyes.

I don't want to have this conversation. Not now. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm just not ready yet," I say. I hope I sound sympathetic. I feel him sigh beneath me.

"Why?" he asks, even though I've already told him.

"I just want it to be special. Perfect," I respond, trying not to sound irritated.

Derek shifts underneath me, trying to sit up. I let go of him and sit back, facing him, staring straight into his light grey eyes. "If it's you and me, and we love each other, that's all that really matters right?" he says, grabbing my hand.

Every time I've ever imagined my first time, it's always been like something out of a love story. I imagine silk sheets and soft kisses. Shaking hands and overwhelming desire. I imagine looking up at him, so full of love, as if I'm about to burst out of my skin. Something beautiful and sacred. Precious and heartwarming. I imagine something to be treasured.

And at night, when I dream about it, I'm not with Derek.

I look down at my hands, guilt washing over me. "Yes." I draw out the word slowly, feeling the incompleteness of my reply, how much it leaves unsaid.

White lies. Lies we tell to make other people feel better.

"So what are we waiting for, babe?" he says.

"I just want it to feel right. I'm sorry, really. I hope you're not mad." I reply. I want this conversation to end. I don't want to hurt Derek. I really don't.

"No, I'm just frustrated," he says. His voice is hard and sounds like it's coming from very far away.

I reach out and pull him into a hug. I rub his back and feel him relax and sink into me. "I love you, Derek," I whisper. "It'll be right one day. And we'll live happily ever after."

Rationalizations. Lies we tell to make ourselves feel better.

* * *

My mother, Susie, and Arnold's grandparents are sitting by the lake where we always watch the fireworks. I'm missing Rhonda's Fourth of July party to be here, but I don't feel regretful. These are people that I love, that I miss. Right now, although I'm nervous, there's no where else I'd rather be.

"Eleanor! Well knock me over with a flyswatter, I haven't seen you in ages. Come here and give old Gertie a hug," Arnold's grandmother shouts. I quickly run to her side and wrap her up in a tight hug. She smells like watermelon and mint. "Don't worry, darling" she whispers into my ear. "It'll all be okay." I fell tears well up in my eyes. God, how does she always know?

"Pookie! Stop hogging her," yells Arnold's grandfather. "Well, well if it isn't Helga the hellcat. Looking dynamite as always, kiddo."

I look down at my long grey t-shirt with "I cheer, what's your superpower?" written across it in glittery purple and my bright blue leggings. My grey Converse are worn and my hair is pin-straight, falling to the small of my back. "Aww Phil. I look like a bum. But you're still quite the charmer," I say with a smile, kissing him on the cheek. Being with them, I'm happy. Actually, truly happy.

"Hey, everybody." That voice. I could spend hours, days, weeks, building up my walls determined not to let Arnold in and that voice, so familiar, breaks them down in a matter of seconds. I turn around, prepared to see those eyes, that hair, his smile. But that's not all I see.

Arnold is walking toward us, holding hands with Amber.

Amber Haus and I despise each other. It's something that's never been said aloud but everyone can feel it. Whenever we're in the same room, our revulsion for one another cracks in the air like electricity. Always there, ready to ignite.

I can't help it, but Arnold bringing her here feels like a betrayal. It hurts in a way that makes me feel sick and confused at the same time.

I'm sitting down, gazing at the stars, wishing for a life I had destroyed when Arnold sits down next to me, pulling Amber down with him. They're holding hands and something inside me breaks like delicate china hitting the floor. I have a choice. I can either continue to sit with them in silence or I can put on my mask and pretend none of this bothers me.

"How much longer do you think it will be?" she asks.

"Ten minutes," he says, glancing at his watch. That's his father's watch. Phil gave it to him for his twelveth birthday.

"How you ever noticed the time goes slower when you're waiting for fireworks," she whines.

"Times always moves slowly when you're waiting for something." he replies, crossing his feet at the ankle. He's wearing his favorite sneakers. The ones with paint splattered all over them. He says it reminds him of all his paintings. The good, the great, and the horrible. But he's wrong there. They're all great.

"Well, I think it goes super, extra slowly when you're waiting for fireworks," she states. She is every kind of stupid, and I swear I have no idea what Arnold sees in her. How can someone so complex be attracted to someone so simple?

"It's because the anticipation never escapes our perception. You should try looking at the lake instead of the sky or your watch. Might help," I say, determined to gain the upper hand. I'm Helga Pataki and bled confidence. Nothing rattles me.

Amber snorts, but Arnold looks at me and smiles, all teeth and dimples. His eyes sparkle and my chest flutters. "Good idea, Helga," he says.

I look at the lake. Once in a that time I call the Before, Phil decided to take Arnold and I fishing. Out of my mind with boredom, I climbed a tree overhanging the water. Arnold of course found fishing thrilling and sat all afternoon, telling me not to shake the branches of the tree because it was scaring the fish. So I sat still for him and spent the day watching the sun glisten across the water and the determination on Arnold's face. He finally caught one, a tiny little thing, as blue as the lake I spent all day studying. When Phil announced his plans to kill the little fish, my heart broke and I cried, begging for his life. Arnold, always my rescuer, released the fish back into the deep blue water. My face must have still shown worry and upset because then Arnold hugged me close and told me our little fish would find the love of his life, have many fishy babies, and live far, far longer than any normal fish would. I laughed and hugged him back, letting his warmth comfort me in a way only he could. Later, as we sat in the car on the way back home, he grabbed my hand and proclaimed our fish would be named Herman. And that we'd love him forever.

"I've been fishing in this lake. Only ever caught one fish though," Arnold says to Amber.

My heartbeat races. "I was just thinking about that." The words tumble out of my mouth before I have time to think.

Arnold looks at me, leaning in just a fraction. "Herman?" he says.

"Herman," I reply. Our eyes are locked on each other and I can feel my body temperature rise. I want to ask him if remembers we said we'd love him forever.

But I don't. I can't. This is just another story, no longer a part of our reality. It doesn't mean anything.

"I don't think time is going any faster," Amber spits out, voice full of anger. But just as she opens her mouth to say something else, the fireworks begin.

The fireworks leave smoky patches in the sky, and the smell of sulfur drifts down on us. If Arnold and I were together, he'd be holding my hand and my head would be resting comfortably on his shoulder. We'd be like two pieces of a puzzle. We'd just fit. I'd shiver from the slight breeze in the air and he'd wrap his jacket around me. My heart would swell as he'd kiss the tip of my nose and whisper "I love you. Forever."

I glance over at Arnold's handsome face, momentarily lit up by the lights in the sky. I never really let myself think about what it is that makes me imagine us together sometimes or what it really means. The answer terrifies me, threatens everything.

"They're beautiful" I hear Amber say. I watch Arnold smile, eyes lit up as he takes in the heavens above him.

"Yeah," I whisper. "Perfect."

I look back to the sky.

* * *

I forgot this in the last chapter so this goes double...Disclaimer: I own _. (Nothing! Get it? I know, I know)

A/N: This is the last chatper of freshman year guys. We're moving along. Another year older, another year wiser. Not really! These crazy high school kids are going to bring some drama and angst, angst, angst. BIG THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED LAST CHAPTER AND EVERYTHING PRIOR. And of course to anyone who reads this. And big hugs to my buddies out there who are a constant stream of support. Here's looking at you September-Stray, WatchTheQueenConquer, and SexyChief. Extra kisses for you guys. I should have another update out maybe mid-week? I'm just fleshing out the outline now and it's been crazy nuts hot here so my patience is a little thin and I tend to get violent with my computer. Love to everyone and review pretty please. I've give a you a cookie. I swear!

Kisses xox


	7. Chapter 7

Part Two Sophomore Year

Chapter Six

* * *

The wind howls at the bus stop this morning, the air heavy and wet. Last night's thunderstorm is taunting us, not yet ready to leave but too weak to do any more damage. I'm wearing a short cream colored dress with long lace sleeves and matching cork wedge sandals. My honey colored hair is twisted into a side ponytail, curls flowing gracefully over my shoulder. I'm carrying a huge, pink leather bag with a solid silver star engraved with my name, hanging form the strap. Everything is new. Everything screams strong, beautiful, _perfect_.

I'm ready to be a sophomore.

The group at the bus stop is smaller this year; there are only five of us now.

One of them is the one person who threatens the illusion I've created for my life. He sees through me, straight into the deepest parts of me. I've locked him in a box there, every memory and every feeling.

And this year I'm determined to keep it closed.

* * *

I have English II Honors with Derek and Rhonda, the only class I have with either of them. All of my classes are at least honors level, with some advanced placement; they only have this one. I'm determined to keep my valedictorian status. Queen in all aspects, rivaled by none, envied by all.

The teacher hasn't arrived yet. Derek is sitting on the top of his desk, telling a hilarious story and flicking bits of paper at Rhonda. When the others laugh at his jokes, I'm more proud than I would be if they were my own. He's handsome and funny and _mine_. I'm reading _David Copperfield_ , humming softly, and twirling a bright purple highlighter. Suddenly it slips through my fingers and falls to the floor with a light tap. I reach down to pick it up, eyes still locked on the page of my book, completely focused. My fingers touch warmth, softness and a spark flies up my arm, straight to my heart. I drop my book and jerk back as if I've been struck by lightning. I don't want to look up because I know who is there.

Arnold is standing right over my desk, purple highlighter clutched in his right hand. He's effortlessly sexy, all tousled golden hair, plain black shirt and khaki pants. He looks at me, curiosity in his eyes, a question on his lips. I can't meet his gaze, I can't say anything. I'm stuck, right here in the moment, motionless. He sets my highlighter on my desk, leaning down, mouth right next to my ear.

"You're welcome," he says. His breath is hot and gentle, like a caress. His smell, the warmth from his body wrap around me and it's all I can think about, all I can feel. My heart stops beating. Time is paused and I want this moment to stay with me forever.

But just as quick as it happened, he's gone, sitting at his desk in the back of the room. The teacher comes in and time excellerates. I'm facing forward, feigning attention. I focus on the beating of my heart, counting the thumps. I can't do this to myself, not anymore.

Being around Arnold is like free-falling. It's all adrenaline and your pulse pounding in your ears, body on fire. It's addictive, euphoric, _exhilarating_.

And then reality kicks in and you hit the ground.

* * *

Today is my one-year anniversary with Derek. At school, he gave me three red roses, tied together with a white ribbon. His parents are away for the week so he made me dinner at his house, spaghetti and meatballs with ice cream for dessert. The pasta was undercooked and the meatballs were burnt, but he was so proud and right now everything about him is adorable.

We're making out on his living room couch and I clutch onto him, tighter than ever before. I can't lose him, he's perfect, everything I should want. I clear my mind and for the first time I forget about everything as he kisses me. He stops suddenly and looks at me, frowning slightly. I'm bewildered, thinking I must have done something wrong. I put all my focus on this moment, didn't think about anything else but him. What could possibly be wrong?

"What?" I say before he can speak.

He reaches out and touches my face, staring at me as if he wants to memorize every detail. The look in his eyes is soft, almost sad. "Promise you'll never leave me," he exhales, so quiet I can barely hear him.

I used to think promises were everlasting. As tough and as precious as diamonds. I used to think a promise bounded two people together, forever and unyielding. But promises are just pretty words, told to comfort, never meant to be kept. I learned that the hard way.

"I promise," I say. I wrap my hands around his neck and bring him close. Our lips touch and I feel him smile.

Promises about love are the worst. When they break, someone's heart always shatters.

* * *

The gym smells like sweat and rubber and the coldness of the floor seeps into my body giving me goosebumps. I should be jogging with the rest of the girls, but Coach Kelly has me sitting on the sidelines, planning out our routine for the first game of the year. A voice breaks my concentration and I look up, annoyed.

A short, thin girl in green shorts and a matching tank top stands above me. She has light brown hair wrapped in a messy bun on top of her head and wide hazel eyes. Her palms are shaking and she looks terrified. "Um, sorry? Are you Captain Pataki? I'm a transfer and Coach Kelly told me to see you," she stutters.

I soften my gaze. I have a don't-mess-with-me reputation, but I'll never be outright mean for no reason. Never again. That hasn't been me in a long time. "Yeah, you can call me Helga," I say. "Captain Pataki is for the field. So, transfer, huh. Where'd you go, St. Vincent's?"

The girl relaxes and smiles slightly. She nods. "Yeah, I'm Caitlyn. Did you?" she asks.

"Oh, no, not me," I say, looking back down at my hands. My breath hitches as I'm thrown back into a memory. In the sixth grade, my father wanted me to transfer to St. Vincent's, claiming it was the best. Every day I sat at the end of the table and refused to eat. Every night I cried, my sobs filling the house. I wanted to stay with Arnold. He was everything, all that I had. At the time, separation from him would have been the worst thing that could happen to me. I lay awake at night wondering how I could survive without him. Knowing that Arnold was in the room was the only reason I could breathe. The thought of enduring every day without him took away my sense of self, of balance, of hope. It finally ended when Susie begged my father to reconsider, that Arnold was just as distraught, just as lost as I was.

The memory fades and I mentally shake myself. Don't fall apart. I look back at Caitlyn. "Uh ok. Just go do laps with the rest of the squad. I'll evaluate you later. See if you're a good fit," I say, steadying my voice.

She jogs away and I close my eyes, allowing the darkness to calm me. The strength of that memory has me shaken, paralyzed. Removing Arnold from my life was like cutting out my gallbladder. Yes, I may be able to live without it, but everything has to work harder now that it's gone.

And there's always a hole where it used to be.

* * *

The air is buzzing with excitement, voices rumbling like thunder, nerves crackling through the air like lighting. The sun is almost completely set and it smells like wet leaves. It's the homecoming game and I've been waiting months for this. This is my squad, my routine, my moment. I'm bouncing up and down, grass crunching beneath my feet, anxious for everything to start. I look like perfection from the top of my dark purple bow to bottom of my white sneakers. I'm ready, bring it on.

"Hey, Helga," I hear him say. My stomach summersaults and I stop bouncing. I look toward the bleachers and I see Arnold standing there, hands shoved in his pockets. He's not looking directly at me, but he's smiling. He has a bag slung over his shoulder and he's standing so the rest of the squad can't see him.

"Hey," I say to him, confused. I wonder if something is wrong. He doesn't come looking for me like this. Not for a long time.

"Good luck," he says, looking at his feet. He's blushing, his smile uneasy, fiddling with a strap on his bag. He's nervous. "You're going to be amazing."

He, in this moment, all vulnerability, pink cheeks and sweet words, is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

My mouth is dry and my throat is squeezed shut. Talking seems painful, impossible. But I have to get these words out. I have to. "Thank you, Arnold. Really," I whisper, resisting the urge to touch him. He looks at me, eyes sparkling, and we hold contact, caught in the moment. He smiles, dimples and teeth, and walks away. I want to call after him, but I don't.

I have no more words left, nothing to describe what exactly I'm feeling.

The principal announces the squad and the crowd cheers, showering us with support. We run out onto the field, all pep and bounce and smiles. Every move I make is on point, every routine executed flawlessly. The crowds adores me and I can feel it.

And yet I am distracted. From where we're standing I can see Arnold, sitting in the bleachers, eyes on me. I can see him clapping, my name on his lips. The crowd all but disappears. I see him, only him.

And I love him. For all of my memory, I have loved him. I love him in a way I cannot define. It's as if my love were in the very air that I breathed. A molecule in the air I couldn't live without yet could not be found on the Periodic Table of Elements.

I do not love him in the way I love Derek. It's not in the way I love Rhonda or Lila or my mother or Susie.

It's the way I love Arnold.

And it's impossible to say and even harder to feel.

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold! Just some more secret borrowing.

A/N: First and most importantly thank you all so much. I'm super flattered with all the positive response I've been getting from this. You guys are truly fantastic people and you're all amazing writers in your own right. Special shout out to September-Stray, SexyChief, AJSky7, and Block Party Master. I've had the pleasure of reading all of your work and not only do you guys continue to support me but also inspire me with your amazing stories. So if any of you readers out there would like another story to obsess over and keep you up all night reading (because believe me, they are that good) please check out the works of these fine individuals. I think that's all for right now. I hope you enjoyed Helga's little "oh no I still love him and I can't deny it any longer" moment. Stay tuned to see what she does next. Might have something up by Saturday, all depends on how work treats me.

Thanks in advance for reading. Review, pretty please! I promise I'll get around to baking those cookies I keep promising :)

Kisses xox


	8. Chapter 8

Part Two Sophomore Year

Chapter Seven

* * *

My sister is yelling, her voice loud enough to shake the floorboards. I can feel her worry, her fear hang in the air, thick like smoke. On the outside we're still that perfect portrait. Three women, strong and beautiful. Touched by grief, but still our smiles are painted on, wide and toothy with sparkling eyes to match. But if you look between the brushstrokes, you can see it. There's always pain swimming in those eyes. Doubt traced along that smile.

The message we project to the world is perfection. But if you look close enough, know us well enough, the message you'll truly see is denial.

I noticed the signs weeks ago. My laundry starts to appear outside my door in a basket instead of already folded in my drawers. There are frozen pre-chopped vegetables in the freezer instead of whole heads of fresh cauliflower and bright yellow peppers and squash. She leaves a few dishes in the sink overnight. She gets into her car to go work and she doesn't have any make-up on. I've learned that if I try to warn anyone, they laugh. They don't see that her tension and perfection are the only things holding her together. And when that starts to crumble, so does she.

Sometimes I'm so much like my mother it scares me.

Now it's the day after Thanksgiving and my sister believes me. I'm avoiding this fight, this confrontation. I can't see my mother like this, broken and lost. I can't look at my sister, the anger all over her face, eyes brimming with fear. So I stay in my room through the day, listening, trying not to listen. Most of the time I just hear Olga yelling, my mother whispering angrily in return. Sometimes I just hear silence.

It's always the silence that fills me with fear.

And now it's late afternoon and I lay on my bed, watching a patch of light move across the floor, my throat tight, my body still. This is the saddest part of any day, when too much time has passed to create happiness while it is still light out. It's too late. The daylight has been squandered on my inability to move, to leave this moment. The patch of light falls still; it begins to fade. It will be better when it is gone. This is only one day, I remind myself, and it is very nearly over.

Tomorrow we'll all go back to pretending.

* * *

I'm feeling sick the last day of the semester, but I have to go. I have two finals and I'm not going to let something as simple as a stomach ache damage my perfect GPA. But today it's hard to smile, be that perfect queen of the school. I'm counting the hours until I can go home, go to bed, and show a little weakness.

After lunch, Derek, eyes filled with sympathy and concern, carries my bag to our English class for me. I immediately go to my desk and sit down, resisting the urge to lay my head down and drift to sleep. With Christmas coming and two weeks of freedom just hours away, the room echoes with laughter and excitement sparks in the air. A wave of nausea hits me and all I want to do is get this over with.

The test is easy for me, even in my weakened condition. I finish first and lay the bundle of papers face down on Mr. Malone's desk. He looks at me, and I know he is taking in my pale skin and glassy expression. I smile weakly at him before he can ask me if I'm okay. I sit back down at my desk, pouring my focus into studying for my AP European History exam. I can do this, I'm so close.

All of a sudden my insides are churning below my ribcage and my saliva glands are working in my mouth. I try to gauge how likely it is that I'm about to vomit. Class is almost over, I'm fine. The last student finishes and Mr. Malone stands. My vision blurs and I can hear him say "Okay, what did you guys think of the test?" I bolt out of my seat and run for the door with my hand over my mouth. Mr. Malone steps to the side as I barrel past him. "Derek, Arnold, sit back down please," he says as I run into the hallway.

My timing is perfect as I reach the bathroom, kneeling on the floor of the stall with one hand and holding my hair back with another. Afterward I rinse my mouth out in the sink and look at my face in the mirror. I comb my fingers through my hair, pinch my cheeks. I still look pale, but I feel better. I smile at my reflection. Time to put the mask back on. I'm fine, everything's perfect.

I walk back into the room, head held high as if nothing were wrong. Waving off Mr. Malone's offer of a pass to the nurse's office, I sit back down at my desk, all grace and poise. Like a queen on her throne. "Oh my God, do you think she's pregnant? Wouldn't shock me _at all_ ," Amber stage whispers.

Anger jolts through me, electrifying every part of my body. I whip around and stare at her, shooting her with a look that used to make thirteen year old boys cry for their mommies. "You, Amber Haus, are even stupider than I thought if you just honestly said that out loud. You better shut that little mouth before I make you look worse than your awful photographs."

Amber clenches her fists and opens her mouth to say something. I see Arnold kick her lightly under her desk. She looks at him, confusion etched on her face, and he shakes his head. His features are hard and strained, frown deep and eyes filled with heat. His gaze drifts to mine and for a second his expression softens. I smile slightly as my heart skips a beat. The bell rings and I get up, Derek pulling me into a hug.

"Love you, sweetling," he whispers. "Even when you smell like vomit."

I watch Arnold walk into the hallway, Amber behind him whining his name. He looks over his shoulder and catches me looking at him. He smiles and my stomach twists.

I close my eyes and hug Derek tighter, breathing him in the smell of him.

I may love Arnold, but that doesn't change anything between us. If anything it makes everything harder.

I survive my AP Euro test and even the bus ride home. Arnold and Amber get off just ahead of me. They walk down Vine Street holding hands. I loiter at the bus stop and then follow thirty feet behind them until they come to the corner where Amber turns off. I look at my feet as they kiss good-bye, swallowing the pain I feel bubbling to the surface. Amber crosses the street and Arnold waves to her as he starts walking again. Before I can change my mind, I fasten my pace and call out "Hey, Arnold, wait." From the corner of my eye, I see Amber turn around and look at us. If her gaze was poisonous, I'd certainly be dead. I ignore her. Arnold stops and turns, waiting for me to catch up with him. I look into his eyes, stunned momentarily by the sight and smell of him. His smile shows off his deep dimples and his gaze is half-lidded and relaxed. I'm shocked he doesn't look at all surprised. "Hey," I say again.

"Hey," he says. I start walking again and he follows suit. My mind is spinning and my body feels warm. Even just walking next to him feels equal parts right and wrong.

"I have a favor to ask," I say. I keep my eyes on the ground as I walk.

"Okay," he says, wind blowing his hair away from his face. God, I wish I could reach out and touch him, hold him. Just once, only for a minute.

"Could you make sure Amber and her friends don't go around telling everybody that I'm pregnant?" I say uneasily, playing with the ends of my hair.

He frowns, head tilted slightly. "Why would they do that?" he asks. This solves a mystery. I've always wondered how someone like Arnold could be around people like Amber and the rest of their friends. Apparently he doesn't see that Amber is petty and small-minded. He doesn't see that Sid is selfish and loves a good scandal. They can't seem to get enough of all the drama and darkness they think comes with being an artist. But I understand. Arnold always thinks the best of people. He doesn't see flaws, just the possibility of greatness. Of everyone, I should know that fact the best.

"Because-" I falter on how to say it so that I'm not insulting his friends.

"You're not, right?" he says quietly.

"Arnold Phillip Shortman! Seriously?" I say. I'm glaring at him, for the first time in forever. He looks straight back at me. Although I'm annoyed with him in this moment, I feel my heart swell. He still feels comfortable enough with me to ask.

"I-" he stammers, blushing furiously. "I mean, you're with Derek and…"

"It's not even a possibility." I say, shyly. "I've never even had sex."

"Oh," he says. His face changes to the startled expression I expected him to have when I called his name. I look back at the ground. We walk in silence for another minute. I can see my house coming up.

"I really just don't want this to be a war. I don't want to fight with anyone anymore. So could you just make sure-"

"Yeah," he says. His tone is curt and I wonder if I've upset him.

"Thanks," I reply, walking up the steps to my house. I glance at his face. He's frowning and there's no light behind his eyes. My heart sinks as he keeps walking. He does not even say goodbye.

I go straight to my room and crawl into bed. My body feels heavy and drained at the same time. All I want to do is sleep and forget this afternoon ever happened. My eyelids flutter closed and my limbs relax when I remember the way Arnold looked at me when I told him I was a virgin, the way he frowned.

A spike of ice impales me through the middle. It's so large I can't breathe around it. The cold spreads from my stomach into my lungs and heart, but it does not numb the pain. _Why does it matter to you?_ I ask myself even though I know the answer. The ice melts into a puddle in the pit of my aching stomach.

My Arnold.

 _He isn't your Arnold._

I know that. But there is a difference between knowing something and feeling it. I've known that he wasn't my Arnold anymore, I knew that the minute I gave him up all that time ago. But now he is on the other shore, separated from me by an ocean I am too afraid to cross. Now I can feel it.

And feeling it hurts in a way I've never imaged. It's as if I've been gutted.

Bleeding and empty, unable to remember what it was like to whole in the first place.

* * *

The burgers at Slauseen's are perfect. Hillwood's very own source of magic. Toasted bun, greasy meat, fresh vegetables, bubbly cheese. The cure-all for every aliment. Right now there's nothing that can top this moment. Me and my two best friends and the best burger I've ever eaten.

"This really is magical. I feel so much better," Rhonda sighs. Her hair is pulled into a messy ponytail and her sunglasses are still perched on her small face. She's wearing a sweatshirt with a hole in the elbow and yoga pants. She looks awful.

"You wouldn't feel like something that crawled out of hell if you didn't drink enough to rival a fraternity," I say, rolling my eyes.

I'm basing my assumption off her appearance alone. I wasn't with her last night, but irritating Rhonda is one of my hobbies. I can picture the party though. Rhonda, loud and obnoxious, attempting to out-drink the boys. Derek, all charm and boyish good looks, entertaining the crowd with silly games and stories. Lila, sweet and doe-eyed, flirting but still playing her "house mom" role. I missed them but I don't regret bringing in the New Year with my mom and my sister at Olga's house. My friends found a good time, but I found some temporary peace of mind.

When your mother is a recovering alcoholic with a history of depression, you learn that everything has a double meaning. When Olga hugs my mother close, I know she's checking for the smell of alcohol. When my sister asks about her day, she's looking at Miriam's face, searching for the lies. When we walk together down the street she watches to see if our mother's eyes wander to the bar, longing and desperate.

The constant suspicion can be exhausting. And since Thanksgiving everyone has been on edge. Silent, always tense, waiting for the world to come crashing down. But Miriam passed all Olga's tests, seems to have glued herself back together again. Olga and I can finally relax, breathe again, sleep at night. Until the next time. It's a circle we'll probably be stuck in the rest of our lives. But we're always, _always_ fine. Just fine, thank you.

"Oh ha ha. You're a regular comedian," Rhonda says, mouth full. She turns toward Lila, who is eating her French fries with a fork. "Tell her what you found out at the party."

Lila looks at me, eyes wide with uncertainty. This can't be good news. "Oh I don't know, Rhonda. It's not like it's a big deal or anything."

"If it's not a big deal, then just tell her," Rhonda replies, rubbing her temples. My body is tingling, heart stuck in my throat. My hand is wrapped tight around my milkshake glass, knuckles white. I stare at Lila, and in that moment I know.

It's something about Arnold.

Lila fiddles with the end of her side braid, twirling the tiny piece of hair between her fingers. She can't look at me. "Arnold and Amber broke up."

I feel like I'm underwater. Everything is slightly blurry and moving slowly. I can't breathe, I can't speak, I can't move. All I can do is float.

My mind wanders to the last day before break. Arnold kicking her under the desk, frowning, disapproval on his face. Amber looking me as I called out to him, seeing him stop, watching us walk away. The favor I asked of him. No, that's stupid. It can't be. "Why?" I say, my voice deep and full of an emotion that's hard to identify.

"Nobody knows. Neither one of them are talking. All we know is she broke up with him and he was apparently pretty upset about it," says Rhonda, drinking her diet soda.

"I hope he's okay," I whisper. Rhonda looks like she wants to say something, but Lila holds up her hand, a warning on her face. They start talking about the upcoming NHSCC and I lean back in the booth, pretending to listen.

Thinking of Arnold with a broken heart kills me. There's an anger that surges through my body, hot and boiling. I want to scream at Amber. Throw her against a wall and ask her what she could possibly be thinking. Arnold is kind, talented, gorgeous, _everything_. If you have that, you just don't throw it away.

I wish I could tell him that I think he's beautiful. That he deserves the best and Amber was never even close to that. That he embodies everything good in the world and should be with someone who is the stars and the sun. But I can't do that. I gave up my chance, any chance with Arnold a long time ago. We can never be together, I made that choice for the both of us. I love him and he does deserve perfection.

And that's not me. Not even close.

I push my burger away. I'm not hungry anymore. All I want to do is kill Amber and be with Arnold. And both of those are impossible.

I look at the burger on my plate. I should have known better. All magic comes with a price.

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold! But I'm having tons of fun borrowing it!

A/N: Hello, my lovlies. I hope you enjoyed this. A little darker than normal, but Helga's life certainly isn't as easy and she's having a hard time living it right now. But don't worry, I have more lightness and beauty coming up for you guys soon. I'm thinking probably not another update until Tuesday. I have a job interview on Monday (wish me luck!) and I really don't have too much done for the next chapter besides an outline. I know, I'm such a slacker. In the mean time I'm giving you guys some homework. If you haven't already, please check out the following stories:

 _Unibrow_ by September-Stray (very hauntingly beautiful, wonderful, fantastic, inspirational)

 _Time Without Arnold_ by Block Party Master (fantastic writing full of longing, love, and regret, keeps you wanting in the best, most amazing possible way)

 _Less Than 24 Hours_ by SexyCheif (an amazing, perfect love story filled with breathtaking beauty and all emotions)

 _Bluebird_ by WatchTheQueenConquer (will bring all kinds of tears to your eyes; hope, joy, sadness, awe)

 _Catching Stars_ by AJSky7 (beautiful writing, wonderful perspectives, gorgeous characters)

 _I'm Only Human_ by LovelySeoul and Chapter 9 onward edited by yours truly (an emotional rollercoaster you just have to take)

Seriously guys you HAVE to. Not only are those some amazing, supportive people. But amazing writers as well. Make sure you leave them a review!

If you're reading this and haven't reviewed this story yet, please do. I'm always dying to know what you think and I'll always get back to you with a thanks. Anyways love you all and thank you for sticking with me.

Kisses xox,

Vanessa


	9. Chapter 9

Part Two Sophomore Year

Chapter Eight

* * *

Winter in Hillwood always seems to last forever. Not that I mind. To me, winter is magical, the best part of the year. The wind blows my hair all around me, the cold pinking my cheeks. The snow drifts down and covers my skin, soft and gentle, like a caress. I breathe the air out of my lungs and I can see it; it's fleeting, but tangible.

Everything about winter makes me feel alive.

So when it snows for Valentine's Day I'm happy. A kind of happy I can feel everywhere, it's floating my eyes, laced across my smile. We just got back from the NHSCC where the squad scored almost perfect, the best marks Wilson High has gotten to date. On the stage, I felt the same wistfulness as last year. Gazing at the crowd, looking but never finding the one person who would have loved this moment the most.

But today it's snowing and I'm _alive_ and Bob would have been proud.

And today that thought will bring me comfort instead of pain.

* * *

In the afternoon, I get off the bus thinking of my date with Derek. Dinner at my favorite restaurant, walking in the park under the light of the stars, kissing at my doorstop covered in snow. Derek, Derek, _Derek_.

"Helga?" Amber says. I freeze, eyebrows bunched together, anger simmering beneath my skin. I've been pretending Amber doesn't exist ever since she broke up with Arnold. In the few days afterward I could see he was upset. It was in the way his eyes lacked sparkle, how his smile didn't show his dimples, how his thoughts always seemed far away. He was never in the moment, living in the land of "what if?"

Out of anyone I would know. If the land of "what if" were a kingdom, I'd be the queen.

I close my eyes and I see Arnold's pained expression. It makes me want to push Amber down, pull her hair, scream at her until my throat is red and raw.

"Yes?" I say, turning toward her. I wonder if she can hear the suspicion, the rage in my voice. She looks nervous. Like she knows all I want right now is for her to hurt just as much as he did.

"Could you give this to Arnold for me?" Amber says. She holds out a square, pink envelope. I open my mouth to ask her why she just didn't do it herself at school. And then I remember, Arnold wasn't there.

"Okay," I say, narrowing my eyes. I gingerly take it from her. Our fingers do not touch.

"Thanks," she says uneasily. I look at her and resist the urge to roll my eyes. I still can't believe this is the girl Arnold dated, that he loved, who he misses. She's pretty, extremely so with her long chocolate brown hair and wide eyes to match. She's incredibly short and always wears band t-shirts with ripped jeans or long floral print dresses. But her voice is high pinched and her expression is always smug. She's not very smart but claims to be worldly and full of deep thoughts. She says she's an artist, but she's every cliché wrapped into one. I just can't imagine them in love.

It's like peanut butter and mayonnaise. Sure they both go on a sandwich, but not _together_.

"It that it?" I say, raising one eyebrow. She nods, looking at me silently. I turn and walk down the sidewalk. A second later, I hear her follow behind. I do not turn my head when she crosses the street. I'll do as she asks, but she doesn't need to know that I'm curious, that I care.

I get to Arnold's doorstep and my chest flutters. I flatten my hair, tug at my dress and take a deep breath. I knock on the door and stare at the green wood, begging my heart to stop beating so loudly. I hear mumbling and suddenly the door is open. The air is sucked out of my lungs and my whole body tenses at the sight of him.

Arnold's chest is bare, his arms, his shoulders, and stomach all smoothly exposed to me. His skin is hairless expect for a patch around his navel that trails down to the band of his boxer shorts, barely showing above his sweatpants. His green eyes are sleepy, circled in by gray, and his blond hair is tussled every which way. His nose is red, but it's hard to judge against the blush that is spreading across his face. I realize I have been standing here silently staring at him.

"Um, Helga?" he says. I can hear now how scratchy and stuffed up his voice sounds. I swallow and take a breath, my first one since he opened the door.

"Sorry," I stutter. "You just look awful." He looks beautiful.

"I feel awful," he says. He shifts his weight to his other foot. "You look wonderful, but that's no surprise."

I glance down at my heather gray sweater dress, my dusty blue leggings, my high-heeled gray boots. My long, glossy curls are pulled up in ponytail tied with a blue ribbon and diamond studs sparkle in my ears. His compliment leaves me tingly, makes me feel not just pretty but stunning. I look back at him and his are eyes fixed on my face. Butterflies erupt in the stomach and I can't breathe again. I reach into my bag and hold out the pink envelope, hands shaking.

His expression is startled, then confused. His eyes are cautious as he takes it from me. His gaze is suspicious, but there's a little bit of hope lined in his slight smile. "Amber asked me to give it to you," I say. He frowns, startled again.

"Amber?" he says. I nod. "Oh, okay." His voice is strangely monotone. He looks at the envelope and then at me. "Did she say anything else to you?"

I shake my head. His frown deepens. "Was she friendly?" he says. Now it's my turn to be shocked. I frown, mirroring his expression.

"I...guess," I say.

"Hmm."

We look at each again. My body is throbbing like my heart is beating everywhere, all at once. I realize that I am tracing the lines of his shoulder and arms with my eyes. I look down and focus on his bare feet.

"Well, you're probably cold," I say, voice trembling. "And I have a date so…" I shrug.

"Oh, right," Arnold says, a smile in his voice. "Happy Valentine's Day."

"Thanks," I say. "You too. Feel better, football head." I turn away without raising my eyes to him again. I don't hear the door close until I'm off the porch and walking down the sidewalk.

It's still snowing and the cold bites into my exposed skin. But I don't notice. My mind is reeling, spinning. I can't get over the melting, dizzy feeling that overpowered me when I saw Arnold standing in that doorway. It wasn't just attraction but some combination of lust and affection that hand me longing to lean into his chest and smooth down his unruly hair. I could even see it: my head on his shoulder, looking up at him as my fingers reached up to caress his hair. I imagined that his skin would be hot, feverish, and I would soak up the heat as I felt every line of his body that I had admired pressing into me.

Because of course, in this fantasy, he was holding me, caressing me back.

Wanting me back.

I am horrible and ungrateful; Derek is better than I deserve.

I love Derek and he wants to stay with me forever. He tells me I'm perfect and calls me his sweetling. He's gorgeous and smart and funny and he's out there somewhere loving me, missing me.

I know I should be in love with Derek. That he's wonderful and will give me the perfect life my father would have wanted me to have. I know I shouldn't love Arnold. That any kind of relationship is impossible between us. I know I should pull Arnold out of my mind like a splinter so that I can adore Derek the way he deserves to be adored.

Even though I know all these things, in the deepest parts of my heart I can't let go of one selfish thought.

That Arnold and I are supposed to be together. That I'm wasting what happiness I could have.

* * *

Every year for my birthday, even during the dark times, my mother makes me pancakes. A whole stack, fluffy and golden. Covered in with thick, sugary syrup and bright pink sprinkles. Directly in the center always sits a pink and white striped candle. She kisses my forehead, ruffles my hair and says "make a wish."

This was always my favorite part. One wish, just for me, destined to come true. I would close my eyes, mouth moving, saying the silent words I prayed would become reality. I would blow out the candle and watch the smoke rise up and disappear, taking my deepest desire to the heavens where it was sure to be fulfilled.

But I stopped wishing a long time ago. I never got what I wanted.

Wishes, they almost never come true.

* * *

I'm sitting at our usual lunch table, a sparkly tiara nestled in my blond curls and a vanilla cake with purple icing sitting in front of me. Rhonda and Lila are standing right beside me, clapping and singing. Derek has his arms wrapped tightly around me, singing in my ear, his breath hot on my face. My best friends and my boyfriend are all around me, loving me, and I can't focus. I smile, trying to force the memory of this morning out of my head. I touch my left wrist and I feel the cold, sliver bracelet hanging there. The memory won't disappear, a movie playing behind my eyelids, over and over. But it's muted, black and white. I can ignore it, force myself to be here, in this moment.

"Happy Birthday, babe," Derek says, kissing my cheek. "Make a wish."

My heart jumps and I feel Derek's arms hold me tighter. And just like that the memory of this morning flashes in my mind, bold and bright, and I'm lost.

I rush down the stairs grabbing my bag, hair flowing behind me. I'm late, so late. I shout my goodbyes to my mother and run to the door, heels thundering on the wood floor. "Helga, wait," I hear my mother say, right behind me.

"Mom, I'm hopelessly, tragically late. I have to go," I respond, door open.

"I'll drive you. It is your birthday after all," she says, smiling wide. "Here, I meant to give you this with mine, but I forgot. It's from Susie, Phil, Gertie, and Arnold. You know, everybody over there." She hands me a long thin present, wrapped in the lightest pink paper with a dark pink ribbon. I'm speechless as I unwrap the gift, slowly and filled with uncertainty. I open the box, hands slightly trembling.

Inside is a beautiful, silver charm bracelet with three charms. One is an umbrella for the day we met, all those years ago. The another is a snowflake to symbolize the song I sang for him on a rooftop covered in snow. The last is a fish, the perfect little Herman, the one we said we'd love forever.

Oh, Arnold.

"You ready to go?" Miriam says, keys in hand. I clasp the bracelet on my wrist, tracing the charms with my fingers. I fight the tears swimming in my eyes and try to breath around the lump that has formed in my throat. I follow my mother out the door, head held high, smile on my face.

If anyone asks, I'll say it was a gift from my mother. And this will be my little secret.

"Babe! Make a wish," Derek says, chasing away my thoughts. I look across the cafeteria and find Arnold. He and Amber are back together. She's sitting with her chair facing him, their fingers twined together as they talk. I lean forward and blow out my candles, eyes closed, lips mouthing the wish I keep locked in the deepest part of my heart. Everyone claps and open my eyes.

Our eyes meet and I smile, heart skipping a beat. I lift my left hand and push a long piece of hair behind my ear, shaking my wrist slightly. "Thank you," I mouth, eyes never leaving his. Arnold smiles, dimples on display, and winks before turning back to Amber. I look back at my candles, still smoking.

"What did you wish for?" Lila asks, bouncing up and down, full of excitement. I hear Amber laugh and I can't glancing at them from the corner of my eye. She looks happy, and I can't deny that he does too. And then she kisses him and my stomach sinks.

I smile at Lila. "Oh, you know. Nothing exciting," I say, voice even and smooth.

I trace the charms on my bracelet. If wishes came true, they always came true in terrible ways. Fate laughing at you, punishing you for thinking you could change it all with pretty words and a little fairy dust.

Wishes are dangerous things. They make you hope for something that's never coming.

* * *

Being the center of attention is exactly like always having a spotlight on you. People are watching, every detail is illuminated. You can't appear anything less than calm, beautiful, and in control. In other words, perfect.

This is what I wanted. I shouldn't be complaining.

But after the basketball game tonight, I'm exhausted. The stale air in the gym, the fake smile on my face, the high kicks and the screaming. The dancing and cartwheels. After the final buzzer sounded, I crept out into the hallway, desperate for a place where I could breath. A place I could hide.

So now I'm walking down the art wing, breathing in the smell of paint. My shoulders drop and I feel every muscle in my body relax. It's dark and cold, but somehow it calms me. I could lean against the wall and drop to the ground. Still wrapped in this smell, surrounded by beauty and fall into a dreamless sleep. But I don't. I keep walking. I know where I'm going even if I don't want to admit it to myself.

I pass this painting every day. And every time I stop. I can't help it. This girl, she calls to me. Drags me in, tugs at my heart. That same girl. The girl from under the stars. She's sitting under a barren tree, leaves of every color surrounding her. Her buttery hair is pulled up, several curls free and framing her face. Her cheeks are pink and her blue-eyed gaze is cast downward. She's looking at a rose, a deep pink beautiful thing, held delicately between her fingers. I'm tracing the shape of her eyes when I feel him behind me, warm and familiar.

"You know, there aren't supposed to be any roses in autumn," I say, eyes still on his painting.

"Well, that's what makes it special," Arnold says, laughter in his voice. He grabs my hand, and spins me toward him, eyes searching my face. "And plus, things aren't always the way they're supposed to be."

He's still holding my hand and the butterflies beat in my stomach, my face red, my heart thumping. He's so warm and his skin is so soft and I could stay here forever. Right here with nothing but us and this feeling.

If we were together, he'd press me against the wall, body flush against mine. He'd trace his hands along the sides of my face and kiss me long and hard, nothing but heat and desire. My hands would be in his hair, pulling him closer, closer, needing more, never having enough. He'd say my name, pressed against my lips, mouthed along my collarbone. Over and over, murmuring it like a mantra, like a thank you, like a blessing.

If we were together he'd tell me he loved me, that he's always loved me and of course, of course, _of course_ he'll love me forever.

Arnold squeezes my hand and I look at him. His mouth is slightly open, a question on his lips. Doubt, hesitation flash in his eyes. I may dream about it, but we're not supposed to be together and as right as this feels, it will always be wrong. I drop his hand and step back, turning away from him. I run down the hallway, out the door, all the way home. I look down at my hand, cold and empty just like my heart.

Holding hands isn't the same when letting go means saying goodbye.

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold! or any of it's characters. Just having fun playing around in their world.

A/N: Sorry this one took a little longer than I promised. Between my job interview (of which I scored a second interview), and work (a double shift full of lousy tippers), and the editing I'm doing ( _I'm Only Human_ by LovelySeoul, if you haven't read it yet, why?) I just couldn't get this one done any earlier. Plus if I'm being totally honest, I was real bratty about this one. Fussy in the way all us writers get. But I hope you enjoy the result. I know some of you are probably frustrated with Arnold and Helga here. You have to remember that they had a fight, where bad horrible things were said (I promise you will get to see the fight in all it's horrible, tragic living color, just not yet) And Helga truly believes she can never come back from that. In addition, she's constructed this "perfect" life and image and she knows that being with Arnold in any sort of way, friendship or otherwise will shatter it. He sees the real her, the wonderfully flawed imperfect her. She can't maintain the life she has right now with him in it. As for Arnold, well, he just wants Helga to be happy. And I know some of you will be unhappy that he's back with Amber (I'm sorry Block Party Master!), but I really couldn't leave Arnold alone. I love him too much! It was important that they break up (it plays apart in the bigger picture), but if you remember back in the very beginning, Amber is with him. She still has her part to play. I will eventually tell you guys why they broke up, but if you read very closey, I left you some pretty strong hints. Anyways I hope you all did your homework and read the stories I suggested in the last chapter. If not, my lovelies, please hit the back button and check them out! They're amazing stories, done by amazing people. And don't forget to leave them a review. I actually have one to add to the list:

 _Fourteen Years_ by catrussomanno24 (a beautiful, sweet, wonderfully written love story between our favorite couple)

I noticed this week I got a few new followers (yay! thank you!). Please, please make sure you leave me a review! I love, love, LOVE to know what you're thinking and I promise I always get back to you with a hug and a big thank you! As always guys, thank you so much for reading. Love you all. I'm not expecting to have the new chapter up until Saturday. Until then, my dears.

Kisses xox,

Vanessa


	10. Chapter 10

Part Two Sophomore Year

Chapter Nine

* * *

It's the first official day of summer and the air in my room is hot and heavy. I'm tangled in my sheets, covered in a thin film of sweat, my ponytail in a knot, bangs plastered to my forehead. I breathe in and it hurts, sharp and intense. I couldn't sleep; terrified of the horror that would come just as I closed my eyes. All night I could feel it, a pressure throbbing in the back of my head. They're coming, I know it.

The nightmares are my penance.

I was never a good daughter to Bob. I certainly wasn't a faithful friend to Arnold. They loved me and I never loved them back the way they deserved. And then, in a heartbeat, I lost them both.

Of course I deserve this. Of course.

* * *

My mother is gone when I eventually come down the stairs, my sleepless night hidden behind concealer and a fake pearly, white smile. I feel my muscles relax as I let out a shaky breath. I'm alone and right now I don't have to pretend for anyone. I walk through the house, my footsteps light, tracing my fingers over the familiarity of our worn couch, our chipped dining room table. My heart thumps as I stop at the entrance to Olga's old trophy room.

There, in the corner, forgotten, sits our piano. Olga's piano. My piano.

I walk over to it and place my hand on its cool, black surface. I pull my hand back and dust flies around me, twirling in the air. I've resisted for so long, but today it's too tempting. My head is full of the past and I just can't walk away. I close my eyes and sit down, fingers hovering over the cold, ivory keys. I breathe in, deep and long, and my heart slows. And just like that I'm playing. I don't need to think, my body knows what to do. It's engraved in my muscles, my bones. The music fills the air, seeps into my skin. I open my eyes and almost expect to see him there, standing and staring, paintbrush held in mid-air with a secret smile laced across his face.

Once upon a time, I loved playing the piano. And I was, I am, a breath-taking, heart-stopping, jaw-dropping kind of amazing. Of course, Olga is too. It's almost like it's engraved in our DNA as true and as real as our blond hair, our generous curves, our startling blue eyes. The first time Bob heard me play he was thrilled, eyes filled with excitement and pride. Olga was already making a name for herself as a classic pianist and he was positive I would follow in her footsteps. I may not have been the most popular or had gotten the best grades or had won any awards, but I had this. This was something Bob could hold on to, this gave him hope. But, of course, I proved once again to be nothing but a disappointment. I may have loved playing the piano, but I had no interest in becoming a classic pianist. I wanted to write melodies you could hum along to, lyrics you could sing. I wanted to write songs full of love and tragedy and hope. Bob hated it, but Arnold couldn't get enough. Almost every afternoon he would drag over his easel and his paints and he would listen to me play while he painted. Arnold said I filled the air with beauty and it inspired him.

I stop playing and the last of the notes drift away and the room is silent. I don't write songs anymore. Music was always equal parts Bob and Arnold. The piano that was the last disappointment I gave my father and the songs my best friend adored.

It seems silly to give up such a talent. But these pretty notes, these lyrical words, they aren't my future. Never was. There was a time, when Arnold smiled at me across the room, praise on his lips and admiration in his eyes, that I thought it could be. But I was wrong. My future is now, in the life I created. I'll be successful and my life will be perfect.

And I will have fulfilled the promise I made at my father's grave and Arnold will be happy, much happier than he ever could be with me.

My heart leaps to my throat and I jump a mile when the phone rings, filling the house with sound and demanding attention. I shake my head, jumbling my thoughts and jog to the kitchen, picking up phone just before the third ring.

"Helga?" Susie's voice says after I say hello.

"Hey! Yeah. Sorry, Suz, Mom isn't home," I say.

"That's fine. I actually wanted to talk to you."

"Oh." My immediate thought is that something has happened to Arnold.

"You know I've been volunteering as a teacher's assistant at PS 118, right? Well I promised Mrs. Baker that I'd tear down her classroom for her while she's on vacation. Arnold was supposed to help me, but that no-good kid cancelled on me. Do you think you could lend me a hand?"

The idea of walking down the halls of PS 118 gives me goosebumps. The ghosts of my past just keep haunting me today. But how can I say no? Susie's always been there and she almost never asks for favors. "Oh, sure," I say, voice even.

"Really?" she says, so happy I can hear the smile. "Can you be over in fifteen minutes?"

"Absolutely," I say. She thanks me again, blowing kisses over the phone. I hang up and grab my purse, heading out the door. I wonder why Arnold cancelled on Susie. He always, always goes out of his way to help her. I won't ask her though. I have a fear of anyone suspecting how often I wonder about Arnold. I always try not to show so much interest, just in case.

When I knock on the door, Arnold answers and my body stills, eyes wide with shock. His face is blank; he doesn't look startled to see me, and even though I know I do look surprised, he does not react to my face.

"Oh. Hi," I say, twirling a piece of my hair around my index finger. "I thought you were gone."

"I'm about to be," he says. His voice is as sterile as his face. Susie comes into the room with a bundle of portfolio books and canvas bags.

"How long will you be?" she says, voice chipper.

"I don't know," Arnold says. "I'll come by if I can. Sorry."

"It's fine, kiddo. Don't worry about me. Get going, okay?"

"Bye," Arnold says. He sidesteps me and walks out the door. His step is quick on the stairs and just like that he's gone. I watch him disappear and look back at Susie. I didn't want to ask, but she must see something in my frown. She knows I know Arnold well enough to see when something is wrong.

"He didn't say," she says, eyes filled with an emotion I can't place. "But it's something with Amber."

"Oh," I say. I hope that my face and voice give no more away. We drive over to the school. It's a short ride and Susie fills the car with chatter asking me about everything and anything. I smile and answer when I'm supposed to, but my mind is far away. I wish I could fix this for Arnold, whatever it is. I wish I could take his pain away.

But I'm not that person to him anymore, and I really never was. Arnold fixes things.

The only thing I'm good at is breaking them.

Susie parks and we unload the car quickly. My pulse picks up as we walk through the side door of the school where Arnold and I were young. Our footsteps echo through the halls and I feel my palms start to sweat. My mind is swirling and if I listen closely enough I can hear the voices.

 _Out of my way, football head._

 _Whatever you say, Helga._

I need to stop. I'm here to help Susie. That's all. This doesn't bother me, I'm not that girl anymore. She pauses at a classroom and unlocks the door. We step inside and I can tell this is going to be a long day. Whoever this Mrs. Baker is, she clearly loves chaos. Prints from famous artists line every other wall and cover the entire ceiling. The window ledges are lined with sculptures and figures made out of popsicle sticks. Her desk is overflowing with piles of papers and fake flowers. We immediately get to work, Susie starting with the desk as I begin wrapping the artwork in newspaper. The radio plays in the background and I focus on the music, forgetting PS 118 and the girl who used to go here.

We're almost done and I'm on standing on top on one of the desks, reaching for the posters on the ceiling. I'm focused, so focused I jump out of my skin when Susie says, "Helga, dear, I'll be right back okay? I need another bag out of the car."

I nod and smile at her as she leaves. Anxiousness vibrates within me, just under my skin. I breathe out and force myself to listen to the radio. The music is sweet and slow and a calmness floods my body, warmth running through my veins. I start to hum, but I want so badly to sing. I think back to this morning, to the piano, and I remind myself that I don't do this anymore.

But I'm alone and no one can hear me. This moment doesn't have to be for anyone but me.

 _And I'll be wearing white when I come into your kingdom a_ _s green as the ring on my little cold finger._ _I've never known the loving of a man, b_ _ut it sure felt nice when he was holding my hand_

I reach for another poster and close my eyes. I can picture myself at my piano, fingers flying across the keys, lips moving, peace on my face.

 _There's a boy here in town, says he'll love me forever._ _Who would have thought forever could be severed by_ _the sharp knife of a short life?_ _Oh well, I've had just enough time_

Every note perfect. Air filled with nothing but beauty and vulnerability.

 _If I die young, bury me in satin._ _Lay me down on a bed of roses._ _Sink me in the river at dawn._ _Send me away with the words of a love song._

I open my mouth to sing the next verse, swaying slightly when I hear it and my body freezes, filled with ice. The song fades into the background, completely disappearing. All I can hear is him.

I turn and we make eye contact. Arnold is leaning against the open doorway, hands clapping, his head cocked to the side and the corners of his mouth twitching upward. In his eyes I can see it. Hope.

It's like he's looking at a girl he thought he lost years ago.

We're still staring at each other when Susie walks back in. She hugs him, relief on her face that he is smiling again. She puts the last of the papers in her bag and I jump down and give her all the posters. We're finally done and I'm restless. I need to get out of here. Susie kisses my cheek, thanking me again. She asks if I want a ride home and I shake my head. I'm going to walk to Derek's. I need someone to remind me who Helga Pataki is now, not who she used to be. Arnold goes to follow Susie, but hesitates, eyes still fixed on my face.

"Helga," he whispers just as I'm grabbing my bag. I look him and raise my eyebrows, my stomach fluttering. "You can sing really well, like an angel. I've always loved your voice. I missed it."

The look on his face leave me breathless, his words stop my heart. He loves my voice, always has. He _misses_ it. I nod, my skin tingling. "Thank you," I say, throat tight. He smiles wide, eyes sparkling, and walks down the hallway. I still can't move, my limbs heavy with shock. I see him turn his head and look at me again before he opens the door, letting the bright sun shallow him whole.

I walk down the hallway, following in his footsteps, mind overcome with one thought.

The girl, the one that Arnold knew and loved, she made some mistakes.

But maybe, just maybe, she was closer to perfection than I thought

* * *

We are lying out in Rhonda's backyard under the stars. The air is cool and the grass is soft and warm, holding on to the heat from the day. I'm holding Derek's hand, enjoying the feel of his fingers between mine and my palm pressed against his. Rhonda and Lila and some of the boys from the football team are scattered close by. We had been laughing at something Derek said, but a silence has fallen over the last few minutes, the kind of silence that makes you feel closer to the people you are with. I can hear everyone's breathing, though I can't pick out any individual rhythms besides Derek's. Someone, Lila maybe, sighs happily.

"So what do you think the meaning of life is?" says Rhonda, a smile in her voice.

"To be happy," Derek says immediately. "And to torture you."

"I think it's to change a world, even a little bit," Lila says dreamily. "Make a difference any way you can."

"And here I was thinking it was to hook up with as many girls as possible," says Harold, laughing. There is a smacking sound which I assume is Rhonda hitting him.

Rhonda sits up and looks toward where Derek and I are cuddled together. "I think it's just to truly love someone before we die. And of course to make jerks like Derek suffer as much as possible." She sticks her tongue out, dark eyes sparkling.

I look up at the stars and let the light wash over me. I'm not sure what I want out of life anymore. I wanted a charmed life, total perfection. But lately I've been thinking that I'm giving up too much of myself in exchange for it.

"I think," I say, voice hesitant, "I think we're supposed to experience as much beauty as we can."

"Isn't that the same as happiness?" Derek says. I shake my head. The grass pulls at my hair.

"No, because sometimes sad things are beautiful," I respond without thinking. Derek sits up, letting go of my hand, a frown set deep on his face.

"That got serious fast," Rhonda says, aware of the sudden tension floating in the air. "So anyways, when are we going to the beach because I seriously need to go shopping." She laughs and the conversation moves on.

Derek doesn't reach for my hand again and suddenly it's like we're miles apart.

* * *

"Do you really think beautiful things can be sad?" Derek asks as he walks me back to my house. He isn't looking at me, his eyes are firmly cast downward.

I feel my chest swell, tight and painful. I never meant to say that. My mind was spinning, thoughts full of my music, those lyrics. Songs about love and tragedy. Songs that fill my whole body with beauty and sadness, woven tightly together. Songs that make my eyes swim with tears, but my heart burst with awe.

I can't tell Derek that. These thoughts come from a girl he doesn't know.

"What about _Romeo and Juliet_?" I say, grabbing his hand. "That's beautiful and sad."

"But that's not real life."

"So? I don't see your point."

"There's real life and then there is fantasy," he says, pulling me closer. "In real life, it would just be sad and stupid. Some cautionary tale."

"How could two people dying for love be stupid?" I'm surprised he thinks this way and I'm sure it shows all over my face.

"Would you kill yourself if I died?" Derek asks. I look at his face in the darkness. He stares back calmly. I think about walking down the street in the arms of another guy. I think about the sly grin on his face before he says something to tease me. I think about him being gone and under the ground, never to be seen again.

"No, I guess not," I whisper, voice breaking.

"See?" he says. We're at my steps now. He stops and grabs my face in his hands, kissing me long and deep. "I wouldn't want you to either. I'd want you to be happy."

I trace his face with my fingers, look into his stormy eyes. "I'd miss you though. And I'd never forget you."

"I know, I would too. I wouldn't kill myself though. But I do love you. So much," he says, kissing my forehead, rubbing my arms.

I lean forward and lay my head on his shoulder. I love him, I do.

But long ago, I was Juliet. And I know for a fact that she could never live in a world without her Romeo.

* * *

I'm sitting outside late at night on the steps to my house. The wind whips around me, the summer air tickling my bare arms and legs. The light from the porch illuminates my face, warm on my skin. I'm planning the squad's calendar for the upcoming year, scheduling try-outs and practices, coming up with routine ideas.

No one said being the queen was easy.

But I'm relaxed because this is who I am now, this is what I'm good at. I set my notebook down and breathe in. It's cold for the end of July, unnaturally so. The wind blows through the trees, the scent of pine swirling all around me. I shiver, but I do not move. I want to see how long I can stand it out here. Perhaps I'll stay all night. I shiver again and close my eyes. It is cold, but I love it. I hear the sound of a car and right away my eyes are open again.

A silver car has pulled up to the side of the street about two blocks down. The door opens and the dome light comes on. I recognize the male shapes inside the car, one in particular. Arnold stumbles out of the car. He laughs and says something to his friends. They shout something back and he puts his fingers to his lips. He waves and they drive away too quickly.

I watch him walk down the sidewalk, coming closer. I can't see his face, only the shape of him against the night. There is something odd about his gait tonight; his steps are too small, his posture slouched. I lean forward to get a closer look, knocking my pen off the step. It falls to the ground with a loud tap, echoing down the silent street. Arnold looks up and our eyes lock. My breath catches in my throat.

"Hey," he says after a moment.

"Hey," I say. He stares at me, frowning.

"You aren't dressed up," he says, words slurring. I'm wearing soft cotton shorts in baby pink with a silky white bow at the top for a drawstring. My shirt is white with little pink hearts patterned all over, just short enough to show off a tan slice of smooth skin. My hair is long, loose and wavy. The only jewelry I have on is my charm bracelet.

"I'm in my pajamas," I say, blush on my face.

"Oh." He sways slightly. He has still not looked away from me.

Arnold. _My_ _Arnold_. Sweet, shy Arnold is drunk. I know about Sid's parties. Derek has even gone before. I know Arnold and Amber are almost always there. But even though I've heard about it, even though I'm seeing it, it's still hard for me to believe.

"Can I sit for a while?" he says, one of his hands rubbing the back of his neck.

My breath hitches. "Sure," I say, voice shaking slightly. He stumbles over to me and sits down heavily on the steps. He lets out a long breath and tilts his head back, looking up at the sky.

We're silent for while. The breeze picks up again and I feel him move closer, the heat from his body surrounding me. I can smell his skin, his hair and I'm dizzy. "Do you love Derek?" My heart stops beating. He's staring right into my eyes, straight through me. "I mean, does he treat you well? Like you deserve?"

"What?" I ask, high pitched and loud. My shock shows in my voice and he notices. This is what alcohol does to people; it makes them forget all the carefully drawn lines in the world. I try to make my tone light, as if I'm laughing at him. "Don't tell me you're going big brother on me all of a sudden, football head."

Arnold shrugs. He is not looking at me anymore. I wonder if he is blushing, picturing his pink cheeks. He probably is.

"Yeah," I finally say. "I do love him. He's a good guy. Good for me." Oh, Arnold. I may love him, but that doesn't mean I don't love you. I want to touch him, say those words aloud. But I know I won't. "And anyway, I don't think Amber would appreciate it if you fought Derek to defend my honor."

"Yeah," Arnold says, softly. His face is still turned away. "But it'd do it anyway."

I have to ask, I can't resist. "Would you still feel the same way if you were sober?"

Arnold nods. "Yeah," he says again, looking me in the eyes this time. "But I'm only telling you because I'm not."

We're facing each other, so close, too close yet not close enough. I can feel his breath on my face and my heart is beating everywhere, my body throbbing. He reaches out and takes my hand, his skin warm and soft. His long fingers tickle my wrist, playing with the charms hanging off my bracelet. His eyes look at me desperately, filled with heat. I shiver, but it has nothing to do with the cold.

There's a question on his lips and this time I want him to ask. I don't want to run away.

"Will we ever talk about that night on my roof?" he says, barely above a whisper.

I want to break eye contact, but I don't. I couldn't even if I tried. I knew the question was coming, but I still don't have a good answer. "I don't know. Maybe, sometime," I stutter. "Not now."

He leans in just a centimeter closer. God, he smells so good, feels so right. "Can we pretend for one moment that it never happened?"

My eyes widen as I look at him, shocked into silence. I want to crawl into his mind and curl up there. To let his thoughts wash over me, his feelings drown me until I finally, _finally_ understand. But by heart answers before my mind has a chance to catch up. "Yes"

He reaches toward me and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I close my eyes and do as he asked. I breath him in, his smell and his warmth all around me, and pretend in this one moment that we love each other, that we never stopped.

"Promise me that we'll talk about it someday. That we'll fix it," he says. His lips brush my hand, so light and soft. My skin tingles and my heart is lodged in my throat. I'm hopelessly, breathlessly lost.

I can feel the sultry sound of his voice, the velvet feel of his touch, the alluring scent of his skin seeping through my skin and into my veins, rushing to my heart and marking it forever.

And I'm awe-struck. Right now there is nothing in this moment but us.

"Goodnight, Helga. Sweet dreams." And in the next heartbeat he's gone, walking down the street, like he was never here in the first place.

I open my eyes and look down at my hand, his warmth still lingering, his kiss tattooed on my skin.

"I promise," I say.

But no one's there to hear me but the wind.

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold! Or "If I Die Young" by The Band Perry (which I highly suggest you listen to if you are unfamiliar with it. Really sets the right tone) Not even a little bit.

A/N: Wow, this was a long one guys. I hope you guys like the new look I gave you into Helga. Slowly I'm going to start showing you the real Helga, the wonderful beautiful, imprefect Helga. The one that Arnold remembers and loves. The person she's getting a little tired of hiding. And I hope you guys will forgvie me for drunk Arnold, but it's kind of my introduction to the more complicated parts of Arnold's life. And plus it gave them the perfect opportunity to quit being so chicken! Next chapter is Junior Year guys. When did they get so old? I'm excited for this one. Some more big realizations coming up. Alright no more spoilers. Just want to give a THANK YOU to anyone who reviewed including the couple guest reviews who I can't PM. To answer a question I got, no I'm not an English major or a teacher. I'm a waitress! I am starting nursing school in the fall though. Super, super flattered that you thought my writing was that good though! Thanks! So hugs for everybody all around. One more thing before I let you go.

THE LIST OF AMAZING STORIES BY AMAZING PEOPLE

 _Fourteen Years_ by catrussomanno24

 _Time Without Arnold_ by Block Party Master

 _Unibrow_ by September-Stray

 _I'm Only Human_ by LovelySeoul

 _Less Than 24 Hours_ by SexyChief

 _Catching Stars_ by AJSky7

 _Bluebird_ by WatchTheQueenConquer

These are amazing people who inspire me to keep going. So thank you guys extra for your support. Please check out their stories and make sure you leave them a review! And don't forget to fave/follow.

And don't forget about me! I love to hear what you think! Review, review, review!


	11. Chapter 11

Part Three Junior Year

Chapter Ten

* * *

The wind whips around me, the smell of wet grass and fresh dew flooding the inside of the car. The sun hangs low in the sky, just waking up, illuminating the street with a golden glow. The sweet, gentle music from the radio surrounds me and Derek's soft hand sits on my leg, his warmth marking my skin. I look out the window and the buildings rush past me, swirls of harsh reds, deep grays, and shocking blues. I stick my hand out the window, the air pressing against me, trying to grab on to anything, everything.

We are juniors now and suddenly everything is happening too fast, moving so quickly as I struggle to hold on. Except it has always been this way, we just hadn't realized it before. This year and then one more, and one more and one more and one more.

My whole life is happening and I don't know how to make it stop. To put it on pause for one minute, just so I can think. So I can breathe.

It's the same as always, yet different. Derek drives me to school; I walk the same hallways with my same friends. My teachers still love me, my peers still worship me. I look perfect; I am perfect, on track to lead this charmed life, everything carefully planned out for me. I chose this, this is what I wanted. I know the script, I have my lines memorized.

But my heart and my mind are at war. Suddenly nothing makes sense, everything is jumbled. I trace my charms on my bracelet with my fingers and look at the horizon letting the sunshine fill my eyes.

Looking at the future, the future I chose, I feel as if I'm looking into a snow globe. There's a tiny, perfect house with a little person that is me standing in the yard, wide smile painted on. One meticulously carved scene that represents my whole world.

Tiny, perfect, and enclosed.

* * *

The first official cheerleading practice is on a Wednesday afternoon in September, the third week of school. I'm wearing a dark purple shirt with "Wilson High Sharkettes" written across in white and matching leggings. My buttery curls are tied high on my head, secured with a white ribbon. My turquoise eyes are filled with heat and my lips are twisted into a scowl. I'm holding a clipboard, shouting out instruction, my voice loud and demanding.

It didn't seem like a day that would be important.

We're outside on the football field, the sun warm against my back. My body throbs with frustration after every missed mark, every flubbed handspring, every unsynchronized routine. My temper simmers, just under my skin, ready to explode when I hear it. A laugh I would know anywhere. Deep, velvety, and drawn-out.

My whole body turns, pulled by an involuntary force, and I see Arnold. He's playing keep away with some of his friends, a smile, bright and wide, across his face. He's holding what appears to be Sid's backpack, wind tussling his golden hair, cheeks red from the slight chill hanging in the air. I should look away, but I can't. Looking at him, happy and carefree, fills me with a joy I can't even begin to describe.

One of Arnold's friends slips in the mud and slides into him. Arnold is running too fast to stop; he trips and flips head over heels. I hear Amber, on the sidelines, scream, loud and spine-chilling. I realize it looks like he landed on his neck.

My heart stops.

I am back in middle school again and I can't imagine life without him.

"I'm okay," I hear Arnold shout, but from this far away, his voice is quiet; if it were not a voice that I knew so well, I wouldn't have heard it. His friends are surrounding him and I can't see him anymore. But I can imagine the race of his breathing and I can guess at the pounding of his heart under his ribs. I know the shape of his eyes and the way his hair falls. I've tried to pretend I don't, but I can't pretend anymore.

I know what I'm feeling. I've felt it before as that little girl standing under that umbrella in the pouring rain, as the nine-year old hiding behind a trashcan with a locket clenched in her hands and a secret on her lips. I thought this wasn't real, but I was wrong, so wrong. This is real, this is forever. And in this moment there is nothing else in me but this knowledge.

I am in love with Arnold.

His friends move away and I see Arnold stand cautiously. His eyes meet mine and he raises his hand in a wave, letting me know he's okay.

I've loved him my whole life, and somewhere along the way, that love didn't change as I thought, but it grew. It grew to fill the parts of me that I did not have when I was a child. It grew with every new longing in my body and desire in my heart until there was not a piece of me that did not love him. And when I look at him there is no other feeling in me.

"Helga?" Lila says, resting a hand on my arm. I look into her hazel eyes. Concern is etched into all her features. I stretch my lips into a smile and hold on to my clipboard tightly.

"Alright, ladies, from the top. And better this time. Seriously if this is the number one cheerleading squad in the country then I'm Mary Queen of Scots," I shout, voice smooth and even.

I don't allow myself to look at him again. I go through the motions of practice, my mind spinning. I close my eyes and I see his face, hear his laugh.

God, Helga, how could you have been so stupid?

* * *

The sun is bright but the breeze carries the promise of a chill. Unaware that that have stayed past their season, the roses planted outside my house sway in the brisk wind and scatter a few petals among the red and gold leaves that cover the grass, the sidewalk, the streets. I watch a single petal swirl in the air and wonder if it can feel the cold. I'm waiting for Derek on my front steps and he is late.

I love Derek just as much as I always have.

My love for Arnold is buried like stillborn child; it is just as cherished and just as real, but nothing will ever come of it. I imagine it wrapped up in lace, tucked away in a quiet, aching corner of my heart. My love for him will stay there for the rest of my life, and when I die, it will die with me.

One of the rose petals, a deep bloody red, blows across the yellow leaves and stops on the toe of my sneaker. On the outside, it may look like I made a choice. That I'm choosing Derek over Arnold. But it's not that simple. Nothing has really changed. I loved Arnold the very first morning our eyes met in the pouring rain and every single moment since then. It does not matter that I'm not denying it anymore; it doesn't change anything.

So no, this wasn't a choice. Not really.

I stare at that rose petal until I hear Derek's car pull up to the curb in front of my house. I look up and see him smiling, all smirk and arrogance, closing the door behind him with a loud snap.

"Hey, sweetling," he says, and I smile back, wrapping my arms around him as he sits next to me. The smell of him, peppermint and soap, surrounds me and my heartbeat slows, a calmness washing over me. I look up at his light gray eyes and count his impossibly long coal black eyelashes. His handsome face surprises me as if I am seeing it for the first time.

"You miss me?" he asks. I nod. This is my life now, how it really has always been. This is for the best and no one suffers for it but me. And I can live with that.

"Did you have fun with the guys?" I ask.

"Yeah, but I missed you too. But look what I got you when we went to lunch!" He hands me a hard plastic egg, bright and shiny, the kind that snaps together and you get for a quarter from a machine. I laugh, light and airy, and Derek grins. I take it in my hands, rubbing my fingers across the cool, hard plastic. It breaks open with a crackling sound and inside is a poorly painted rubber shark. It's eyes are wide with curly eyelashes and a big pair of puffy pink lips. A lady shark for the queen of the Sharkettes. A warmth bubbles just underneath my skin and I smile, wide and genuine.

"I will name her Mini-Helga and keep her in my cheerleading locker," I say. "Thank you, babe"

"Don't think one little shark is good enough for my girl, I have more," Derek says, and he hands me a bright blue super ball. Before I can bounce it against the sidewalk, he holds out his fist again. Derek opens his fingers and a wire ring with plastic stone drops into my palm. The stone is pink and as big as one of my knuckles. My throat squeezes tight and I can't breathe.

"I spent all of my quarters," Derek says, pride in his voice. "Nothing but the best for my sweetling."

I hold up the ring and it sparkles in the weak light. He loves me and tells me I'm perfect and he spent all his quarters for me on the afternoon we were apart. I can't lose him.

"Thank you," I say, voice breaking. Derek kisses me hard, mouthing his love for me against my lips. I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and pull him closer. He breaks our kiss and looks into my eyes, tracing my face.

He does not notice that my mind is far, far away.

* * *

I'm running down the stairs, the heels of my boots smacking against the wood. I slide to a stop at the doorway, grabbing my soft red scarf and thick wool coat. I open my door and wind blows in, harsh and cold, snowflakes fluttering into the warmth of the house and instantly melting.

Winter has come early this year.

A step outside and I can't move, overwhelmed by beauty, my lateness forgotten. The sky is a gray-blue, clouds thick and puffy. Snow tumbles down to earth, graceful and light, coating everything from the slanted rooftops to the cold, dark streets. I notice a lump at the bottom of my steps, nearly as tall as me and three times as wide. I know I shouldn't, but I can't resist. The impulse is flooding through me, in my blood, traveling through my veins straight to my heart. I run down the steps, air pinking my cheeks and stinging my eyes and dive.

The mound of snow is deliciously wet and crunchy. I breath in and I can smell hot chocolate and warm mittens, copper kettles and wood sleds. The air is heavy with frost and crystals. The snowflakes cling to my eyelashes, to my hair, to my clothes. I move my legs and arms, making an angel.

I've alway loved the snow. Everything about it. I could lay here for hours until every part of me is blue with cold, completely numb. The only thing about winter that ever bothers me is the empty trees, barren and lifeless. They always make me think of death.

Arnold loves winter too.

I grab a handful of snow and throw it in the air, high above me. I watch as the flakes drift back down, covering me once more. I close my eyes and sink deeper in the mound, knowing I should get up, that I'm still late, but unwilling to give up this moment.

"Helga!"

I hear his voice and open my eyes, sitting upward. I must look awful. Covered in snow, clothes wet and clingy. I run my fingers through my hair, blushing deeply.

Arnold is standing three feet in front of me, his arms crossed over his chest. He is wearing dark jeans and heavy black jacket with a green scarf wrapped around his neck. He has a light blue cap on his head and his golden hair is falling into his deep green eyes. His cheeks are red from the cold and there is a single snowflake stuck on the tip of his nose. He looks beautiful.

"I spent all afternoon shoveling the steps and the walkway," he says, frowning. I look around. I hadn't even noticed. I know Arnold has been doing little things like this for my mother ever since my father died. And even though I've known this, the sight of the clean steps and sidewalk fills me with warmth, my heart racing and my stomach fluttering.

"Oh. I didn't even notice. I'm sorry, football head," I whisper, attempting to keep my voice steady. The anger in his expression both fascinates and frightens me; I see it so rarely. For a moment, I study his stance, his narrowed eyes. I carefully remember the tone of his voice when he spoke. Everything about him is important. There is a beat of silence, thick and heavy. He rolls his eyes and sighs.

"Don't worry about it," Arnold says, smiling. "I meant to throw it in the street. I should have known that a snow pile would be too tempting for you. I'm sure you just saw the snow and went nuts." He laughs and his dimples are on full display.

I look down at my hands, unable to look at his face. It hurts for him to smile at me like that, a friendly, easy smile that says nothing in particular, and therefore tells me everything I need to know about his feelings for me. But it doesn't matter. It shouldn't, it can't.

"I can fix it," I say, still looking down at my hands.

"No," he says. "It's seriously fine. Really." I look back at him and see all traces of anger gone, his face clear of anything but amusement. "What's that thing people say?" Arnold asks, eyes sparkling. "The more things change, the more they stay the same?" He catches my gaze and winks and my heart stops.

I hop up, all grace and poise and try to brush myself off; suddenly I am restless and I can feel the cold soak through my skin and into my bones. "I should get going. I was supposed to meet Lila for dinner a half hour ago."

His gaze is fixed on my face, eyes full of heat. "You have snow in your hair. And on your clothes. And everywhere."

I run my fingers through my hair again and he does not move. The sun is gone now and the evening shifts around us as cars' headlights throw their light at us and pass on. I see his handsome face and his half smile and that golden lock of hair hanging in his face.

 _I love you Arnold, so much_ , I think.

I smile at him and turn around, walking down the street. We don't say goodbye but I can feel him watching me, his gaze warm on my skin. I can picture him standing there, staring after me. Pink cheeks and a smile on his face, surrounded by snow.

Winter wasn't supposed to come early this year.

But things are not always the way they are supposed to be.

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold! Just borrowing him I promise.

A/N: This one isn't as long, but I hope you guys love it all the same. Just wanted to clear something up. Back in the beginning of sophomore year, Helga acknowledges to herself that she does indeed still love Arnold. But this really is nothing new to her. They were BEST friends, they loved each other. Now anyone who has ever loved someone knows that there is a BIG difference between loving a person and being IN LOVE with a person. Here Helga realizes that difference. When Helga and Arnold started becoming close in middle school she let go of her fourth grade obsession, believing herself uncapable of being in love at such a young age. She went on to love him in what she deemed as a more normal way, the way you love someone you care about. But here she's discovering that she's always known her love for Arnold was different and this is why. She just doesen't love him, her nine year old self was always right, she's hopelesly, tragically in love with him. But she's still Helga, and she's still hiding, and she's still going to keep wearing her "perfect" mask, convinced it's the best thing for everyone. Junior year is going to go by pretty fast because just as Helga put it time is blowing past them. Senior year will go by pretty quickly to. And then we're at "That Summer" guys, and that's when everything changes. So enough rambling from me :) Here's your homework if you haven't already completed it.

THE LIST OF AMAZING STORIES BY AMAZING PEOPLE

 _Fourteen Years_ by catrussomanno24

 _Time Without Arnold_ by Block Party Master

 _Unibrow_ by September-Stray

 _I'm Only Human_ by LovelySeoul

 _Less Than 24 Hours_ by SexyChief

 _Catching Stars_ by AJSky7

 _Bluebird_ by WatchTheQueenConquer

 _The Ever After Series (Ever After, Never After, and the thrid installment coming soon!)_ by Mouse9 *NEW ADDITION*

Seriously, these guys rock. If you think I'm good, you haven't seen anything yet. Please check them out and don't forget to review! Shower them with love.

And don't forget about me! I like to be showered with love too :) Thank you so much for reading and review, review, review. You will always get a hug and a thank you. And I think at one point I promised cookies. Those will come eventually. I promise.

Kisses xox,

Vanessa


	12. Chapter 12

Part Three Junior Year

Chapter Eleven

* * *

The moonlight shines into my room, casting everything in shiny, ethereal glow. The wind seeps through the smallest of cracks in my window, pouring in the crisp smell of the ice and darkness. I am asleep in my bed, dreaming something that I will not remember in a few moments. The artificial glow of the screen in the dark night wakes me as much as the ringtone, the song that's been stuck in my head for weeks. I fumble instinctively for it on my nightstand, fatigue clinging to my every movement. The brilliant colors, the vibrant images of my dream slowly fade as my mind battles to stay in this beautifully constructed land of perfection.

I don't have to pretend in my dreams.

My fingers wrap around my smooth phone and I hold it close to my face, irritation boiling my blood. I look at the name illuminated on the screen and my throat closes, my body tingling with shock.

Arnold.

My dream is gone and all that is left is the reality of Arnold's name glowing at me in the dark. My heart thumps hard in my chest as I sit up. The song continues to play, his name flashing, demanding attention. Demanding an answer.

"Hello?" I say, just above a whisper.

"Oh my God. It is Helga Pataki." I do not recognize the voice or the laughter in the background. "Hey, sweetie. How 'bout you come over here and I'll show you a good time?"

"Oh really? Well, sweetie, how about I come over and show you how far I can shove my fist down your throat?" I say, voice filled with anger. I feel the disappoint simmering underneath my skin and I struggle to swallow around the lump that has formed in my throat. I should have known. I have no right to be disappointed.

"Hey, what are you..." There is a shout and some shuffling. "Helga?" His voice is all honey and velvet. I fall back on my pillows and close my eyes, my pulse still racing. "I'm so sorry."

"What was that?"

"Some guys got a hold of my phone. I'm at Sid's. I guess they called you because, you know. Helga Pataki and all that."

"And all that, huh? Well I guess I can't blame them. I am pretty amazing and gorgeous." I feel the corners of my mouth turn up. I shouldn't be teasing him like this, like it used to be. But it's too easy, sitting here in the darkness, his sultry voice wrapped around me, to forget. Forget that everything has changed.

"No use denying the truth," he says and I can hear the smile in his voice. I can picture his deep dimples and his sparkling dark green eyes. My palms start to sweat and I grab the phone tighter, holding it closer. "Anyways, Helga I'm sorry. They're just being drunk and stupid. It won't happen again. I promise."

"How about you? Have you been drinking? Causing all sorts of trouble?"

"Nope, I'm sober as a judge. I'm driving. Proud of me?"

I smile, wide and deep. I open my mouth to give him a snarky reply when he interrupts me.

"Sorry, hold on," he says. And then quietly, not to me, "Is she sick again?" Someone answers him, but I can't make out what they are saying. "Okay," he responds. "Hey, Helga?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to let you go, okay? Sorry about before. Sweet dreams." There's something in his voice now. He sounds tired, a bone-deep exhaustion that no sleep could ever cure. I wish he was here, his whole body against mine, his breath hot and his arms pulling me close. I wish I was looking into his eyes, tracing his lips, telling him I would do anything to see him smile, to erase his pain.

"Yeah, you too."

I wait for him to hang up first. I can hear the noise of the party in the background. I count to three slowly, my pulse hammering, and I can still hear him breathing.

He hangs up.

My phone drops to the floor and I roll over and bury my face in my pillow, breathing in the slight trace of vanilla from my hair. The ache in my chest pounds and hums with my heart. When was the last time his voice was with me, in the dark? A deluge of memories hits me, drowns me.

Sleeping on his overstuffed, worn couch, after a movie marathon, curled together like baby rabbits, his light breathing so close to my ear, tickling my skin.

Out on his rooftop, stars lighting up the sky and our eyes, whispering secrets to each other, our breath visible in the cold night.

Sneaking through his skylight, his arms wrapped around my waist, his warmth seeping through my clothes, straight through my skin, marking me forever. Holding me so close as I cried, tears hot and wet, his smooth voice telling me that my father was wrong, that I am perfect just the way I am.

The love I've tried to hold back breaks its dam and flows over me, curling my toes and making fists of my hands as I breath his name into my pillow. Safe in the dark, where no one can hear me.

"Arnold," I say. "Arnold. My Arnold." My breath shudders and my eyelids close against the pain of loving him.

Arnold. My Arnold. Even when I hate him, I love him. And even when he stops calling I can still hear his voice.

* * *

She got the kind of story you only see in fairytales. The kind of perfect, wonderful story that's a sticky, sickly sweet; that causes everyone roll their eyes, but smile at the same time. The kind of beautiful, wonderful love story that people covet, that those around you envy.

Of course she deserves it. Of course I'm happy for her.

I just didn't think happy endings existed. That fairy tales were false words, an idealist version of love. That true love can never, ever be that easy. That in real life the princess doesn't always end up with her soul mate, the love of her life. Just whatever prince happens to be convenient.

I should know better than anyone how dangerous and damaging love can be.

So I thought she was silly for holding out for that oh-so-special someone. But of course, of course, _of course_ she proved me wrong.

* * *

It happened on a Tuesday. We were walking down the hall, the air thick and humming with the sound of clanging locker doors and loud footsteps. Rhonda's voice, obnoxious and booming, drowned almost everything out, her complaints working my thin patience. My body was tense and tight, a harsh comment for Rhonda poised on my tongue when it happened.

He ran right into her, her dark pink lips in a perfect "O" as she lost her balance, auburn tresses flying around her. He caught her at the last second, his strong tan arms wrapped around her tiny waist. His eyes, the exact color of the ocean after a storm, locked with hers.

His name is Chase Reynolds and in that very moment, in the hallways of Woodrow Wilson High School, he fell in love with Lila Sawyer.

Now, just two weeks later, I'm sitting in stands of the baseball field, the bench cold against my thighs, the sun warm on my back. Lila sits next to me, sparks of her excitement crackling through the air surrounding us. Her voice, filled with sweetness and adoration, cheers his name. She loves him, truly is in love with him. The pure, beautiful, undeniable kind. I know this because I know Lila and I'm all too familiar with love. I should be cheering with her, clapping hard until my hands ache, screaming Chase's name so loud my throat burned. I should be celebrating the overwhelming happiness that is pouring out of my best friend.

But I can't. Instead my heart is filled with sand and my body throbs with bitterness. I'm jealous of such a simple thing. That she cheers for him, her whole body full of pride and passion. That he waves to her, blows her kisses. I'm jealous that they love each other, fully and completely, and everyone knows.

Lila and Chase don't have to hide.

A small hand on my thigh jerks me from my thoughts. I look at Lila, her eyes heavy with understanding, the corners of her mouth turned down. We stay like this for a moment, the wind blowing through our hair, the sounds of cheers around us, the air full of the smell of dirt and hotdogs. Something deep inside me crumbles, and I close my eyes and sigh, full and watery.

She won't ask any questions. But it's in moments like this that I feel as if she knows, has always known. And she lets me pretend, because she's my best friend and she loves me.

"When you look across the room and your eyes meet, you feel it," Lila says, her voice light and breathy, just above a whisper. "Your heart tugs you toward him. Because he is that missing piece. That tiny piece of your heart, of your soul, that just slides into place and completes you. And you know. You just do. That, Helga, is that oh-so-special something I'm always talking about."

I open my eyes and look down at Derek just as he leaps out from behind the concession stand, arms wide. Rhonda jumps in the air, screaming, the popcorn she was holding flying from her hands and showering back down on her. I look at my boyfriend of over two years, his eyes dark and mischievous, his laugh loud and deep. I silently beg for him to look at me, for our eyes to meet, so I can feel it. So my heart can flutter and I'll know that we're happy, that we love each other, that our life will be perfect. But he's too busy laughing at Rhonda, my mental pledging falls on deaf ears.

"You might find someone that is close, that fills some part of you," Lila says. "But it's like a puzzle piece that doesn't quite fit. And no matter how many times you try to jam it into place, that picture just isn't right."

And then suddenly there's Arnold, walking up to the concession stand with Amber, their fingers tightly woven together, a smile wide across her face. He says something to the kid working the stand, and although I can't hear him, his voice fills my head. I trace the shape of his face with my eyes, memorize the way the breeze is ruffling his hair.

"You only have one oh-so-special someone," says Lila.

Arnold hands Amber her hotdog and brings his own to his mouth. His eyes sweep the stands and our gazes lock. My heart leaps, thundering loud and hard in my chest and my body vibrates. He smiles, our eyes still fixed on each other, and winks.

"And no one else will ever love you as much," says Lila.

Rhonda and Derek arrive, and the moment is forgotten, all talks of love shattered. Rhonda whines about her popcorn and Derek wraps his arms around my waist, holding me tight. He kisses my forehead, but I'm silent, my hands shaking. Lila is right, there is something missing, a small part of my heart he isn't capable of filling.  
But he loves me and I can't hurt him.

Happy endings and fairy-tale romances don't exist for me.

I'll just have to settle for close enough.

* * *

In front of me sits a glass of rum and Coke with three ice cubes in it. The glass is tall and I'm spinning my straw around, watching the bubbles burst and the ice cubes twirl. Rhonda is laughing, her red lips twisted into a smirk, pouring Coke into her own glass. Lila is tracing the sides of her glass with the tips of her fingers, Chases' arm wrapped around her shoulder, a wide, brilliant smile on his face. Derek is sitting next to me at my kitchen table, his hand on my thigh, the smell of him so close. I don't drink, made it a strict unbreakable rule. I'm terrified alcoholism is traced along my chromosomes as sure as my intelligence or my temper. But tonight I'm all about forgetting. The real kind, not the kind that comes with pretending.

"To us and to our amazing, perfect futures," says Rhonda. We all raise our glasses, the ice clinking all at once like a melody that has lost its way.

* * *

"So where's your mom again?" say Lila, her words close together and rushed.

"In Dallas, some kind of business deal. I'm not exactly sure," I say, my voice sounding far away and completely foreign. She left this morning, and although we don't talk very often and never about anything real, I do miss her.

"I'm going to the bathroom," I say. I get up and make my way across the floor. My feet aren't quite going the way I tell them to; they step to the side and fling me forward before I'm ready. My blond hair is shiny, but tousled, loose and curly. My sundress shows off my shoulders and long legs and is my favorite shade of green, a color that reminds me of grass in the summer, of shiny emeralds. I grab at the doorframe as I go into the hall, my friend's laughter behind me. Ever since my second drink, I have had a warm and happy, free feeling, like I'm in a nice hot bath. Like I'm invincible. I've had four drinks now, and something is bubbling up in me like a laugh caught in my chest, tickling me nicely as it struggles to break out.

I go to the upstairs bathroom, my favorite because of the claw foot tub. The year I was nine, I could lay on my back with my feet at one end and my head grazing the other perfectly. I would hide in here, looking at the ceiling, pouring my heart out where no one would hear me. Now, at seventeen, I have to bend my knees. I step inside and wiggle around until I'm comfortable. I stare at the egg shell white ceiling and something flutters in my stomach. I wiggle again grab my cell phone off the floor.

I shift around, trying to find a comfortable spot again as the phone rings. When he answers, I stop moving.

"Helga?"

"Arnold, hi," I whisper.

"Are you okay? Is anything wrong?"

"Nothing, football head," I say airily. "I'm drunk."

"Oh," he says, calmly. And then, shock in his voice, "Oh!"

I feel a swell of pride in my chest; I surprised Arnold. And I've been drunk now, just like him. I laugh, loud and high pitched, before I remember I'm trying to be quiet. I cover my mouth with one hand, attempting to stifle my giggles.

"Where are you?" he asks, worry traced along his words.

"In my bathtub. With the feet. I'm hiding from my friends."

"Why?"

"So I can call you, silly." He laughs, one short deep chuckle that turns to a sigh. I frown, disappointment bubbling inside me. "Was that mean to say?" I ask.

"No, it's not mean. Just true." The wistfulness in his voice both confuses me and causes my heart to pound in my ears.

"So I have to ask you something," I say. "Do you really miss my singing?"

"Helga," he says, his voice thick and sweet. "I wouldn't have told you that if I didn't mean it."

"I miss it too. You know, doing it. Writing and playing and all of it."

"So why did you stop?"

Suddenly I can't breathe. I'm drunk, but I can't even begin to explain this to Arnold. Especially to Arnold. Right now I don't want complicated with him, I just want to hear his voice.

"It's okay, Helga. You don't have to answer. But you have to make me promise."

"Okay," I say, smiling.

"Don't have sex with Derek while you're drunk," Arnold says, tone serious and hard. I close my eyes. I know what I want to say, but I am silent. My words can't find their way through the fog of my mind and out of my mouth. There is something here, something significant, if I could just find it. "Helga?" he says.

"I wasn't going to," I say. The words fall from me like stones dropping into water; one, two, three, four.

"Okay," he says, relief obvious in his voice. I wiggle in the tub, the porcelain sides digging into my elbows.

"I should probably go back downstairs," I say. It's true, but I wish I could stay here all night.

"Make sure you drink a glass of water before you go to bed," Arnold says.

"Okay," I respond. I close my eyes and listen to his breathing, slow and calm. "Hey, Arnold?"

"Yeah?"

I breathe deep, letting his voice fill me with confidence. I want to give him this. To tell him, in this moment, how much I wish things were different. And I do miss it, and so does he.

 _So this is me swallowing my pride standing in front of you saying I'm sorry for that night. And I go back to that summer all the time. It turns out freedom ain't nothing but missing you, wishing I'd realized what I had when you were mine._

I can hear his breath in my ear and if I close my eyes I can picture him here. I can see the smile on his face, the hope in his eyes. The smell of him all around me, the warmth of him so close.

 _I'd go back to that summer, turn around and make it all right. I go back to that summer all the time. Maybe this is wishful thinking, probably mindless dreaming. If we loved again I swear I'd love you right. I'd go back in time and change it but I can't so if the chain is in your door I understand. I go back to that summer all the time._

It's silent, but my emotions linger in the air, rise to the ceiling. "Helga?" he says, his voice shaky. "I'm sorry, too."

"Goodnight, Arnold," I whisper, lightly. He has nothing to be sorry for.

"Goodnight, Helga."

I walk back down the stairs and into the living room and sit down next to the other boy I love. I cuddle up next to Derek and he leans his head against mine. Nothing has changed. Apologies are not magic words. He's with Amber and I'm with Derek, and nothing changes just because I'm sorry and he knows it.

Tonight I will sleep all night with Derek in my bed but we will not have sex. In the morning, he will kiss me and his lips will press against my neck, his breath hot. I'll bury my head in his shoulder, inhaling the familiar smell of him. Rhonda will be vomiting in the bathroom down the hall. Lila will make everyone runny eggs and buttery toast. No one will talk much. When they are gone, I will be relieved.

Later, I will throw my messy hair in two pigtails, dressing in my favorite pink sweats. I will rush out the door, breathing in the tangy smell of grass and pine, signs that spring is in full force and that summer looms around the corner. I will close door behind me, desperate for a burger and a milkshake when I'll almost trip over it.

On my steps will be a box, wrapped in the softest blue paper, the color of a diamond against the summer sky. My heart will pound as I open it, my hands sweaty and shaking. Inside will be a shiny, silver charm glinting in the fading sun.

A music note for all the songs I sang to him, for the girl he used to know. For the girl that's slowly coming back.

For the girl he forgives.

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold! or _Back to December_ by Taylor Swift (although I did change it up slightly). I'm just playing around in their worlds.

A/N: Hello, my dearies. First off I am very truly sorry about how long it took me to get this up. As a few of you know, my brother was recently in the hospital. He is now safe and home, but I was kind of a wreck for a little. So writing kind of took a backseat. Big shout out to Bridget (also known as LovelySeoul) and Catherine (also known as catrussomanno24) for giving me hugs and support during the dark time. I love you guys. Now I know y'all are kind of used to an update from me about twice a week. Most likely you'll probably only see one a week from me from now on. For those of you that don't know I'm starting nursing school on Monday and I couldn't be more excited. I'm heard it is a bit of time suck, however. But I still love writing and of course will make time for Arnold and Helga. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed my latest installment and it was certainly worth the wait. Now, as always, here's the list of stories to add to your To-Do list if you haven't already:

THE LIST OF AMAZING STORIES BY AMAZING PEOPLE

 _Fourteen Years_ by catrussomanno24

 _Time Without Arnold_ by Block Party Master

 _Unibrow_ by September-Stray

 _I'm Only Human_ by LovelySeoul

 _Less Than 24 Hours_ by SexyChief

 _Catching Stars_ by AJSky7

 _Bluebird_ by WatchTheQueenConquer

 _The Ever After Series (Ever After, Never After, and the thrid installment coming soon!)_ by Mouse9

Give them baskets full of love, affection, and fresh-baked cookies! They're all super amazing and deserve the world :) Thank you guys for being my inspiration.

And don't forget about me, my loves. REVIEW! Pretty, please? I really does make me smile. Thank you to everyone who is still with me and reading. It makes a lot to me. So thank you guy, really truly, for everything. See you next time!

Kisses xox,

Vanessa


	13. Chapter 13

Part Three Junior Year

Chapter Twelve

* * *

It rains on the last day of school. The heavy, hot, thick kind that surrounds you, consumes you. It falls down in buckets, hits the ground hard and harsh, drops exploding and releasing themselves back into the air in the form of steam, never fully disappearing. The sound is not comforting; it brings up thoughts of gunfire, of bombs falling to the Earth, destroying everything in its wake.

I used to think the rain symbolized rebirth. Cleansing everything back to pureness, back to innocence. I used to think you could find second chances in the rain.

Maybe some people do get those second chances, do feel clean and new and shiny. But so far the rain has taken from me far more often then it's given.

Now the rain is just a warning. The ominous indictor of what's to come.

* * *

Derek and I are wrapped underneath the dark cotton sheets on his bed. The air is muggy, yet cold and the rain thunders against the glass of his window, almost as if it's begging me to stop, telling me that I'm doing something wrong. Derek's hands are low on my waist, pulling me toward him, his fingertips bruising my skin. He's kissing me hard, all tongue and teeth. I dig into his shoulder, rake my nails into his skin, pleading with myself to feel a passion bubble in me, the overwhelming, undeniable kind.

He breaks our kiss suddenly and cups my face, holding my eyes in his. We lie our on sides facing each other and I take in his messy black hair, his angular features, his smooth skin.

"Helga," he says, voice heavy. The desperate look in his stormy eyes tells me everything. I know what he's going to say.

"Derek, I…"

"This is absurd," he says, rolling his eyes. "I mean, look at us."

"Can't you just kiss me? What's wrong with this?" I say, voice pledging. This conversation always scares me, makes me feel as if I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, dangling, inches from falling into the darkness.

"I want to make love to you," Derek says, thumb grazing my skin.

I can't say anything in reply. I can't say that I want make love to him. I can't say that I do not want to make love to him. He continues to look deep in my eyes, saying nothing. I wonder what he believes I'm thinking as we stare at each other. The slight hope laced across his half-smile tells me he's assuming I'm considering the idea, deciding if I'm ready or not.

But he could have asked me if I wanted to go the roof and try to fly. He could have suggested that we drive to the airport, right now, and buy two tickets to Rome. It's not that I don't like the idea; it's just not possible.

"Derek, I love you, but we can't just have sex right now," I say, avoiding his gaze.

"You just said it. You love me. I love you too. So why not?"

"Because…" I say, voice faltering. I can't find the words to explain what is so obvious to me.

"What do I need to do so it can feel right for you? So it will be right for you," he says, voice brimming with concern.

"I need…" I'm searching my brain, desperate for something to give him. A reason he can understand. "I need time."

"How much time?" I look back at him. His gaze is intent, calculating, his eyes boring into me, studying me.

"I don't know, after we graduate. Next summer," I say.

"Okay," Derek saying pulling me closer, relief and happiness traced along his features. He kisses me and I sigh into him, taking comfort in smell of him.

Perhaps in a year, I will have found a way to get over this. Perhaps I won't need to. Perhaps in a year, this will be enough.

Derek kisses me harder, one hand buried in my hair, the other fluttering over my exposed stomach. I close my eyes tight and lose myself in the pure physical sensation of it, all warmth and skin and our breath. We're barely clothed, in bed, and we love each other. And this is almost sex.

And it's almost right.

* * *

The rain seeps into my clothes, straight through my skin, to the bone. My hair is messy and clumped together and my eyes are filled with fire. I'm shaking from head to toe, but it has nothing to do with the cold. My hands are formed into fists, so tight, knuckles white and nails cutting into my skin. He's still on the ground looking up at me, green eyes swimming with equal parts sorrow and pain, unsure what has surprised him more; the push I just gave him or the words I said along with it. My mouth opens, scowl angry and bitter, more poison poised on the edge of my lips. _Stop it! It's not his fault! Don't do this, please._ My mind is shouting, screaming, begging. But I just won't listen. _STOP!_

"Helga! Wake up!" Hands shake me hard and my eyes fling open, bright sunshine filling them and blinding me. I gasp, deep and long, struggling to force air into my lungs. I grab frantically at my clothes, my hair, certain they're soaked, that I'm still on that roof. And then suddenly everything clicks into place.

It's just a nightmare. It's just that time of the year again. The time my dreams fill my nights and haunt my days. The time my greatest mistakes are doomed to replay behind my eyelids, a sick horror movie stuck on repeat.

I'm sitting at my piano, Lila's hands on my shoulders, worry laced across her features. I have a hazy memory of coming down here, long before the sun came up, pouring over my old lyric sheets, looking anywhere for an escape.

"Sorry, Lila. I must have fallen asleep," I say, attempting to keep my voice even. She sits down on the bench next to me, fingers hovering over the smooth ivory keys, taking in the scene in front of her.

"I didn't know you still played the piano," she says, her smile cautious.

My eyes widen and my heart sinks. I don't even know how to begin explaining any of this. How can I tell her that for me playing and writing means living another life; that I'm in love with my lost best friend and my boyfriend and I'm struggling to resist that other life. That at night I can hear the music call for me, and that when I close my eyes I can see Arnold's face, those eyes, that smile. That when I'm alone and I can see him, hear him, it's just too tempting.

Right now I'm vulnerable and my body is begging for a release.

I close my eyes, welcoming the darkness, as my fingers hover over the keys. With a sigh, sweet and airy, I allow myself to play, music flying through the room, dancing in the air. My muscles relax as I allow the melody to fill me up with warmth, my heart slowing and my breath steady. Tchaikovsky, an old Pataki favorite.

"Have I ever told you how my father died?" I can feel Lila stiffen next to me. I don't have to be looking at her to tell she is shocked, completely stunned I'm willing to share this with her. But my emotions are too raw right now, too exposed. I don't have the effort to hide and maybe I'll feel better if I, for just a few minutes, take off my mask completely.

"No," she says, her voice quiet. She doesn't ask anything. She's leaving me room to make a decision. To keep going or to go back to pretending. I sigh again, my voice watery and heavy, as I look into her light hazel eyes, still playing.

"I was right here. At this piano…"

The memory floods me, drowns me. And I couldn't escape even if I tried.

My fingers are playing against the keys, an upbeat melody circling the air when I stop, frowning. I pull the music sheet towards me, lips twisted into a scowl, my forehead wrinkled with frustration. This part sounds off, incomplete; I can't feel the happiness, the longing I'm trying to portray. I close my eyes and lean back, breathing in deep, and think of Arnold. I think of just earlier today, when I was trying to teach him to dance. His hands on my waist, his warmth sinking into my skin, washing over my entire body. His breath on my face, warm and tickling, so close I could count his eyelashes. His laugh, deep and drawn out, filling my ears, as beautiful as any music. I think of our playful teasing, of every gentle caress. My Arnold. My best friend. I open my eyes with a smile, grabbing my pencil, scribbling frantically.

"Helga?" My father stands in front of me; skin beat red, drenched in sweat. His face looks pained and pinched and his eyes appear cloudy. I linger on him for just another second before looking back down at my music sheet, anxiousness bubbling within me.

"Good run, Bob?"

"Only three miles today. Can you get me water with ice? I'll be in the living room." His voice sounds jumbled and thick as if each word required extreme focus. But it barely registers. I'm thinking of this song.

I'm thinking about Arnold.

"Yeah, Bob. Coming right up," I say, still writing. But he's already gone.

And these will be the last words I ever say to my father while he's alive.

The sun begins to set and the room is filled with golds and pinks and oranges. I glance up at the fading light, shocked by the time that has slipped by, so quick like sand seeping through your fingers. I get up, stretching my limbs out, shaking the stiffness from my muscles. I walk to the kitchen and I'm surprised I can't immediately tell. The air is heavy and clingy and silent. The kind of silence that is loud and deafening.

"You still want that water, Bob?" I say, remembering his earlier request. I shrug at his lack of response, deciding to get him one anyway. I crack several ice cubes into a large glass, pouring in the coldest water right to the top.

And still it's silent, so quiet that all sound disappears, gets swallowed up. How could I have not known? How could I have not felt it?

I walk toward the living room and maybe that's when I sense it. Not what happened exactly but that something isn't quite right. Suddenly my pulse is just a beat too fast and my mind is telling my feet to move just a little bit quicker. I stand in the doorway, hovering like ghost, afraid to move.

One look and I know. How could I not?

"Bob?" I say, voice quivering. That lump on the couch, that lifeless lump, so still and cold, is not my father. My mind stammers, struggling to sort through the sludge, trying to catch up. My breath is gone and my heart has stopped beating. Time stands still and I just stay there, staring, my body filled with ice.

My father, Bob Pataki, is dead.

And then everything starts again. I scream, loud and high pitched, dropping his glass. It shatters, pieces flying everywhere, water soaking the carpet. And I'm still screaming.

Time accelerates after that. The little I've managed to hold on to is just pieces. Crying into the phone, begging 911 to help me, change everything. The flashing lights of the ambulance, hours too late to do any good. My mother passed out at the table, surrounded by alcohol of every color. My sister sitting in the middle of the living room, her whole body racked with huge sobs, until the tears just won't come anymore. The pain and anguish I'm sure you can feel before you even open the door.

I wonder if Lila can see it floating in my eyes, engraved in each of my words. The shame I'll always hold until the day I die. I wonder if the reason I'm struggling to breathe is because the air is weighted down with it. And even as she hugs me close, tells me loves me and she'll always be there for me, I'm still a coward.

Because the story doesn't end there.

While my mother drank away her pain and my sister cried through her distress, I was down the street in the pouring rain, filled with blame and hate, knocking on the sky light of the boy I had loved forever.

I didn't tell Lila the most important part. The ugliest, most twisted, most awful part.

On June 8th at 4:45 p.m., I lost my father.

And then, six hours later, on a rooftop in the rain, I lost Arnold.

One day, I had them both, two men who loved me in very different ways.

And then, because of me, they were gone.

* * *

The mail just doesn't stop coming. Letters printed on every type of paper. Glossy brochures with girls and boys, arms linked together, pride and excitement lighting up their features. _Come here, it's always like this, we promise._

Happy, smiling, perfect.

Everyone wants me. Colleges from around the country have thrown money my way, confident I'll make a perfect addition to their institution. But looking at the brochures makes me my skin crawl and my stomach lurch. I look at their faces, their smiles wide and forced, and wonder to myself if I can really do this.

My mother calls my name, urging me to come downstairs or we'll miss our flight. I grab the brochures, tracing the smiles one last time, before I throw them in the air, watching them twirl and spin before gracefully floating back down to the ground. I walk out of the room, closing the door behind me, leaving the mess on my floor.

I'm not sure if I want to be perfect anymore.

* * *

There is a moment, after the campus tour, when Arnold and I are alone, standing by a fountain. The sun is bleaching everything around us a painful, bright white. The wind blows, sticky and hot, tussling our hair and spraying us with the cool water from the fountain. So we stay here, in this moment, surrounded by the smell of grass and sun and the busy sounds of the city.

I'm looking at everything, at anything that isn't him.

Whenever I remember my drunken apology, my throat closes shut, my body red and on fire. Because I know, I know, _I know_ in the end, it changes nothing.

Two simple words can never erase what I did. Arnold may think he forgives me, but that doesn't fix anything. We'll still never be together. We'll never be as close as we once were. An apology can never fix the past and can't change the future.

I'm staring at the tall buildings, the thick trees, the stone walkways, trying to picture myself walking across campus, a bag slung over my shoulder, laughing, a real smile traced across my features.

"Do you like it?" Arnold says, adjusting his sunglasses, a wide smile across his face. I look up at him, memorizing exactly where his dimples are, how his shirt stretches across his biceps, the traces of blue pain on his fingers. The sight of him always stops my heart, steals my breath.

"UPenn. Ivy-League. Hard not to like it," I say, voice smooth.

"You'll like it. You're a city girl at heart," he says, eyes fixed on my face, still smiling.

"Well that is true. I like to see any muggers try to take advantage of this sweet Ivy-League blonde."

"They wouldn't know what hit them. Especially after you introduce them to Old Betsy and the Five Avengers," he says, bubbling with laughter.

His laugh is all velvet and honey and I can't help but smile, laugh along with him. The butterflies beat hard against my stomach and my skin tingles, hot and prickly.

We didn't know it, but Susie and Miriam were taking pictures. They still have this one, taken at this very moment. They were far away and we are small, sitting together on the corner of the fountain. I'm looking at the ground, leaning toward him slightly. He is looking at me.

We look as if we sit there, every day, together.

Its funny how things don't always turn out the way you thought they would.

* * *

On August 13th, nothing happens.

Lightening does not strike the earth twice. No old woman shows up at the door with a warning. Arnold doesn't see a black dog staring at him as he crosses the street. No one says anything prophetic or ironic. I do not awake in the darkness to hear the clock strike thirteen.

Did anything feel different to Arnold? Did the next few days, weeks, months feel like late afternoon, the sunlight creeping across the floorboards of his room, slowly fading until there is but a thin veil of gray between day and night?

Did I feel something? Did I know? I probably should have. But I've never been good at seeing the signs. They're always there, bright and obvious, but I'm never paying attention.

And now like all things that have become history, I feel as if I always knew it, as if all through this story, it had been lurking in the shadows.

The story underneath the story.

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold! Super promise.

Dedication: I would like to dedicate this chapter to my soul sister, Catherine (catrussomanno24). You, my dear, are all the colors of amazing. Always, always keep smiling (even though I know it's hard right now) because it's the truth. Love you for real.

A/N: My sweets! Thank you so much for all the congrats and well wishes. You guys really touched my heart and with your support behind me I'm currently rocking week one of nursing school! I had some down time between classes and was able to churn this sucker out. Also baby brother appreciates all the love and is recovering enough to annoy me and I'm already ready for him to go back to Mississippi. I hope y'all like this chapter because I definately teared up while writing it. It's definately dark, but you know I love the dark, sad side of beautiful. And just to address a couple concerns I got, I will NOT be abadoning this in any way shape or form. First of all, I'm super in too deep. Second, I would never do that to you guys. I love you too much! Don't worry, I have everything competely outlined. So the longest you'll probably see without an update from me is two weeks (and that's only if I get really swamped!). Promise! You can tar and feather me if I lie to you. And in case anyone was curious the classical song Helga was playing was Romeo and Juliet Fantasy-Overture by Tchaikovsky (which I also don't own). Before I go a quick thank you to Mouse9 who added this story to the community, Hillwood PS182. Not only was I super flattered (sorry it took me so long to notice by the way), but super honored as well. So thank you, my dear. If you guys are looking for great stories I suggest you check it out. As well as...

THE LIST OF AMAZING STORIES BY AMAZING PEOPLE

 _Fourteen Years_ by catrussomanno24

 _Time Without Arnold_ by Block Party Master

 _Unibrow_ by September-Stray

 _I'm Only Human_ by LovelySeoul

 _Less Than 24 Hours_ by SexyChief

 _Catching Stars_ by AJSky7

 _Bluebird_ by WatchTheQueenConquer

 _The Ever After Series (Ever After, Never After, and the thrid installment coming soon!)_ by Mouse9

Can't forget my little plug for all my besties. Please check them out. Give them cookies, brownies, all kinds of baked goods. They certainly deserve it.

And of course, don't forget about me. I saw I got a few new followers (kisses for you) but don't forget to review. I love to know what you guys are thinking! Thank you all so much for reading and sticking with me through this. Every day I'm amazed by all of you. So thank you all for being my inspiration.

Kisses xox,

Vanessa


	14. Chapter 14

Part Four Senior Year

Chapter Thirteen

* * *

I'm standing by the glass doors, hand holding the cool, metal handle just staring at her. I can't look away, my gaze stuck on her's like a magnet, the connection strong and intense, completely unbreakable.

Her long, honey hair. Curly and glossy, framing her clear, peaches and cream skin.

Her eyes, the color of sunkissed waters of the Caribbean. Somewhere you want to dive into, get lost in, stay forever.

Her white dress, covered in cheeries, tight in all the right places. Displaying her curves, the generous slopes of her body that make boys salivate and girls sneer.

To the naked eye she is perfect. She has everything. Undeniable beauty, enviable intelligence, amazing athelic talent. She's admired and loved. Her future reads like something from a story, happily ever after and all.

I see her everyday, everywhere. In the photos on my dresser, in the puddle of rainwater in the ground. In my mirror every morning. Reflected back at me, in the glass of the door, right now.

"Helga, come on!" Derek says, tugging on my hand, pulling open the door, leading me down the hallway. "First day of senior year, and we're going to be late."

I turn and glance over my shoulder, eyes staring right back into my own.

I can't escape her, she's always there.

The girl I've become. The girl I'm not sure I want to be.

* * *

"Alright, ladies. Thank you very much for coming. We'll be posting call-backs for the second round of try outs sometime tomorrow," I say, voice booming throughout the gym. I can see the hope laced across their smiles, the admiration swimming in their eyes. They look at me and want what I have. They're convinced this is the first step toward leading beautiful, charmed, perfect lives.

They see me and believe in that fairy tale.

But I know what they don't. I may look like Cinderella, but my glass slippers shattered a long time ago.

As each girl leaves I can feel the air get colder, slowly yet suddenly, the hype and thrill draining from the room. I lean back in my chair and let out a breath, long and steady, like helium leaking out of a balloon. I don't have words to describe the exhaustion I feel. It's engraved in every muscle, traced across my bones.

It's the kind of exhaustion you feel when you're tired of _everything_.

"Lila, baby." I look toward the doorway and see Chase leaning against it, arms crossed. His wavy, chestnut hair is crammed into a dark purple ball cap with a shark on the front. His eyes, dark like the deepest part of the night sky, glow with happiness, fixed on the girl walking toward him. He holds out his arms for her, wraps her close, kissing the top of her head gently. Lila's eyes are closed, holding on to him equally as tight, pure bliss laced across her smile.

The sight of them, innocent and beautiful, wraps thick around my heart, squeezing tight. My chest is heavy and I can't breathe. My blood turns cold, freezes in my veins. I have to go, now. Anywhere, _anywhere_ , but here.

"Helga?" Rhonda says, thumping a hand on my back. I look into her eyes; see my started expression reflected there. Her lips are twisted into a frown, her forehead wrinkled. "You look pale as a ghost. And believe me it's not a good look for you. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just…thirsty I think. I'll be right back," I say, getting to my feet, my limbs shaking. "If Derek comes before I get back, keep him busy for me okay?" I quicken my pace, almost jogging, desperate to be alone.

This hallway is always cold, a wonderful crisp, deep kind. As soon as the air wraps around me, goose bumps rising on my skin, the smell of paint and charcoal hitting me hard, I relax. I can feel every cell in my body unwind, slowly and smoothly. I close my eyes, walking down the hallway, my footsteps light, fingertips brushing the paintings and pictures on the walls.

I could tell myself a million lies, each more colorful and complex then the next. I could tell myself I come here because it's always cold, because it makes me think of snowflakes and winter. That I come here because it's almost always deserted, that no one will come looking for me here.

I could rationalize it a thousand ways. But there's only one reason I come here. And as I open my eyes, standing in the doorway of the last classroom on the right, I find that reason.

Arnold is standing in front of a half-finished painting, paints of every color on the stool right next to him. His eyes are closed, long lashes lying across his pink cheeks. His hair is jumbled, flying in every direction as if he's been tugging at it, tussling it in frustration. He twirls a paintbrush through his fingers, biting his lip. My heart leaps to my throat, my skin humming with heat. He is amazingly, utterly beautiful.

My eyes drift toward his painting. There she is again. The girl that speaks to the innermost parts of me, the dark parts hidden deep, the parts I'm not even completely aware of. This time she's sitting on the ground in a yellow dress, lacy and intricate, each pattern gorgeous and complex. But the hem of her dress is dirty and frayed, exposing her bare feet crossed at the ankle, also black with mud. Her hair is thick and long, a golden buttery blond, and on top sits a shiny, silver tiara, the topmost diamond glittering. In one hand she holds several pieces of paper, illegible words scribbled all over the pages. In the other hand, so tight her knuckles appear white, she holds a lighter. Her eyes are drowned in confusion and her soft pink frown screams sadness. The background behind her is incomplete, but it appears as if she's sitting in the snow.

"When you were stuck on a lyric or a melody, how did you find inspiration?" His voice is sunlight hitting the freshly fallen snow. It's a cascade of bubbles tumbling against the blue sky. It's jumping into a pile of leaves, crispness all around you. His voice is everything good in the world wrapped into the best music you've ever heard.

His eyes are still closed. "How'd you know it was me?" I ask, voice barely above a whisper. His deep green gaze meets mine and he smiles, all dimples and teeth. The breath is sucked out of my lungs, my heart thundering.

"Oranges and vanilla," Arnold says, smiling deeper.

"What?" I ask, stepping closer toward him, confusion laced across my face.

"You smell like oranges and vanilla."

My throat is tight and my stomach jumps, fluttering fast. We stand there, staring at each other, the air heavy and thick, filled with all the things we're leaving unsaid. He inches closer to me and I can feel the warmth of his body, smell his skin, count his freckles. He touches my arm, his long fingers wrapped around my skin. The feel of him shots lightening straight to my heart, electrifying every nerve in my body. There's something swimming in his eyes, traced along his parted lips. A statement left untold, a question left unanswered. We stay in this moment, hovering, waiting, for whatever is about to come next.

My phone rings, loud and piercing, echoing throughout the silence. I jump away from Arnold, still tingling from his touch. I walk into the hallway, turning my back on him, waving over my shoulder. My pulse is throbbing underneath my skin, everywhere all at once. I can't look at his face, I'm afraid by what I'll see there.

"Yeah?" I say, answering my phone.

"Babe, we're waiting on you. Hurry up," Derek says, hard and fast, obviously irritated.

"I'm coming. And I'm fine, thank you for asking." I look after my shoulder and see Arnold standing in the doorway. He smiles when our eyes meet, raising his hand in the smallest of waves. My breath hitches and I smile, wide and involuntary.

Everything, in the end, comes down to timing. One second, one minute, one hour could make all the difference.

It could make the difference between nothing or forever.

* * *

At Halloween anyone can be whoever they want to be.

The sweetest girl on the block may dress as the devil, mean-spirited words twisting on her tongue, lust and danger in her heart.

The weakest, most cowardly guy could dress as a superhero, confidence brimming behind his smile, faith and bravado echoed in his words.

But as I'm standing in my living room, with blue mug full of white wine, looking at the pirates and witches, trying to breathe in the hot, muggy air, I can't help but think it's just another day.

After all, when you wear a mask, it's always Halloween.

I'm watching the party alone, leaning against the wall. Lila and Chase are curled up on the couch, Chase ticking Lila's sides, her airy laughs twirling through the air. I can hear Rhonda's loud, flirty voice from the kitchen and I can picture her fluttering eyelashes, her hand pressed against her latest victim's chest. Derek is standing on the coffee table, telling a story to his captive audience. He spreads his arms wide and shrugs and everyone laughs.

"So I went back into the house _again_ ," he says. One laugh stands out this time, and my eyes flicker to the other side of the room. Amber sits on the floor next to the couch, legs folded underneath her, a beer in her hand and her eyes shining. I know that look. Amber has been charmed by Derek. I roll my eyes, sighing. It happens easily enough and to nearly everyone.

Derek throws back his head to laugh at his own joke, deep and barking. Amber grins and claps, her chocolate brown hair slightly disheveled. I watch Derek jump off the coffee table and take a bow, forever the entertainer. He sees me looking at him and saunters across the room, laying his hands on my hips, leaning close.

"Hey," he whispers, breath hot.

"That was a very entertaining story," I say, smiling.

"I know," he responds. He is so close that all I can see is his laughing, mocking eyes staring into mine. "I'm sick of the crowd. I want to be alone with you."

"Alright, you go upstairs now and I'll follow in a few minutes," I say, giggling.

"Okay," He kisses me hard, pressing me against the wall. I watch him walk away, breathless and flushed, tipping my mug back, finishing the wine in one swallow.

I walk toward the kitchen, mind swimming, and I turn the corner too fast, stumbling into Arnold's chest.

"Oh!"

"I'm sorry, Helga," he says, eyes wide, even though it is clearly my fault. His shirt is wet, an empty plastic cup in his hand.

"Oh no, baby. You're all wet," Amber says. She touches his chest and clucks like a mother hen. My throat tightens as I watch her fingertips grazing his chest, rubbing his shoulder. My blood boils as I swallow the bitterness bubbling inside me. I could strangle Lila for inviting them in the first place.

"Arnold, I'm so sorry. Come on, I'll get you a towel from the kitchen."

"That's very nice of you, Helga," Amber says, slurring her words slightly. I look at her face, her cheeks red and pupils wide and narrow my eyes. I nod, and they follow me into the kitchen, saying nothing.

I hand Arnold a towel, my skin tingling as our fingers touch. "What were you drinking?" I say, voice steady.

"Just Coke," he says. I fill my blue mug with more wine and hand him a new cup filled with Coke. He smiles at me, eyes half lidded and dimples on display. "Thanks."

I smile back at him, ignoring the butterflies beating in my stomach, and walk back out into the living room, making my way to the stairs. I'm halfway up when I hear his voice, stopping me in my tracks. I glance over my shoulder. Arnold is standing at the bottom of the stairs, his drink untouched in his hand. Amber is gone. I hear her high-pitched giggles in the next room.

"Hey, Helga? Don't forget what you promised me, okay?" he says, voice brimming with concern. I try to flip through all of my memories of us, trying to find a promise that hasn't been broken yet. There were a lot of promises; there isn't much left. "Not while you're drunk." My grip on the wine tightens, and I feel myself start to nod and then shrug.

"You don't need to worry about me, football head," I snap. "Okay?"

He looks at me, not blinking, not moving. He does not blush. From the next room, Amber calls his name and he doesn't seem to hear her. I swallow, trying to push my heart back out of my throat.

"Fine," I say, whispering. "We aren't planning to, okay? Not until graduation at least. So I'm okay. You don't have to worry."

"Helga…I'll worry about you until the day I die," he says, a sad smile traced across his features. He turns on his heels and walks back into the living room, leaving me there, shocked. I climb up the stairs, one by one, my footsteps echoing in my ears, my heart twisted, every beat filled with pain.

I count my steps, his voice still filling my head, my silent response to him burned into my brain, engraved across my tongue.

And I will you love you, Arnold, until my very last breath.

* * *

The snow flutters down, light and pretty, covering the hard, crispy grass, the barren trees. It coats my hair, my skin, the tips of my eyelashes as I sit on the hard ground, my breath visible, surrounding me, engulfing me. My eyes are hard and fixed in front of me, tears frozen on my face, staring at the snowflakes filling in the engraved words, forcing them to appear more obvious. More permanent.

 _Robert Pataki_

 _November 15th, 1959 – June 8th, 2009_

 _The best businessman, husband, and father_

I came here to scream, to rant, to claw at the tombstone, to bang my fist against the ground, to shout at the sky. But seeing the words, bright and clear, took my breath away.

And I just can't seem to get it back.

"Helga?"

And there he is. As if the deepest, most intimate parts of my heart conjured him here. He stands above me, snow clinging to the golden locks hanging in his dark green eyes. Beautiful eyes that are fixed on my face, filled to the brim with concern. In his hands is a bouquet of daisies, Miriam's favorite flower.

Seeing him here, to visit my father, to give him the flowers my father used to bring home every Friday just to see my mother smile, re-starts my heart, my lungs. A snob catches in my throat, loud and harsh, and the tears spill over, racking my entire body.

Arnold drops down to me, pulling me toward him. My head rests on his chest, his coat wrapped tight in my hands, pulling him closer. I inhale the smell of paint and peppermint as he rubs circles along my back, humming a tune only we know the words to.

"Don't leave me, please don't leave me." I say.

I say it over and over, like a prayer. Mumbling the words into his chest, wishing they would sink into his skin and swim into his heart, marking him there for the rest of his life.

"Never," he whispers, his breath warm and sweet.

I hold him closer, still repeating my mantra, all while thinking one thought.

Oh, Arnold. I wish I could believe you.

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold! Not even a little bit.

A/N: Hello, my dears. Don't know about you guys, but I had a nutty weekend. Friday night started out with drinking way too much white wine and getting into a screaming match which of course ended with me in tears and lots of apologies the next day (still sorry!). Saturday was homework and a hangover. And yesterday was Netflix and inspiration. So I think I should get extra hugs for this little nugget that I'm giving you guys today. So just want to get something out of the way real quick. You know I love you all very dearly, including my guest reviewers that I can't PM and give them their own personal virtual hug. That being said, you know who you are, I do not appreciate flames. They are not welcome. I would LOVE to hear anything constructive as I'm only looking to be a better writer, but telling me my story is not beautiful, just depressing and making a bunch of predictions that, by the way, were ten thousand percent incorrect, well to be honest just pisses me off a bit. Anyone who writes on here is really putting themselves out there and deserves to be treated respectfully. So I'm going to go back to grade school here: If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. Now moving along, thank everyone so, so much for all the love and support. Really, you guys are all kinds of amazing. I wasn't really expecting this when I posted my first chapter, but not only have each of you helped me rediscover my love for writing, but I've made some life-long friends as well. So really, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

You know what time it is?! Homework time!

THE LIST OF AMAZING STORIES BY AMAZING PEOPLE

 _Fourteen Years_ by catrussomanno24

 _Time Without Arnold_ by Block Party Master

 _Unibrow_ by September-Stray

 _I'm Only Human_ by LovelySeoul

 _Less Than 24 Hours_ by SexyChief

 _Catching Stars_ by AJSky7

 _Bluebird_ by WatchTheQueenConquer

 _The Ever After Series (Ever After, Never After, and the third installment coming soon!)_ by Mouse9

If you haven't already (why not!) please shower them with baked goods (maybe a cheesecake, some cannolis?). And don't forget about your best friend, Vanessa. I like love too!

Review/Favorite/Follow. I'll love you forever, I promise.

Kisses xox,

Vanessa


End file.
